Ill 


3 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PERSONALITY 

IN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

BEFORE  LUTHER 


BY 


KUNO  FRANCKE,  PH.D.,  LL.D.,  LlTT.D. 

PROFESSOR  OF  THE  HISTORY  OF  GERMAN  CULTURE 

AND  CURATOR  OF  THE  GERMANIC  MUSEUM, 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:  HUMPHREY  MILFORD 

OXFORD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


TT 

179 


p 


PREFACE 

THESE  lectures  were  delivered  at  the  Lowell 
Institute  in  Boston  in  January,  1915.  Four 
of  them  were  repeated  in  February  of  the  same 
year  at  Cornell  University  on  the  Jacob  H.  Schiff 
Foundation  for  the  Advancement  of  German  Cul- 
ture. The  whole  course  was  repeated  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  California  in  July,  1916. 

KUNO  FRANCKE. 


683254 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

THE  CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  AND  THE  COURTLY  EPIC 

OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  CENTURY 3 

The  unity  of  national  life.  Literature  as  an  expression 
of  national  culture.  Jacob  Burckhardt's  view  of  the 
absence  of  individuality  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  un- 
tenableness  of  this  view.  Chivalry  the  connecting  link 
between  medieval  collectivism  and  modern  individu- 
alism. Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  as  a  forerunner 
of  humanism.  The  soul  life  in  Hartman  von  Aue's 
Poor  Henry.  The  striving  for  the  ideal  in  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach's  Parzival.  The  protest  against  society 
in  Gottfried  von  Strassburg's  Tristan. 

CHAPTER  II 

GERMAN  MYSTICISM  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  43 
The  democratization  of  personality  through  the  rise  of 
the  middle  classes.  Individualism  in  the  religious  life 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  Cultivation  of  the  inner 
self,  as  demonstrated  in  the  Visions  of  Matilda  of 
Magdeburg.  Grasp  upon  the  outer  world,  as  demon- 
strated by  the  Sermons  of  Berthold  of  Regensburg. 
The  philosophy  of  Master  Eckhart.  Its  affinity  with 
modern  pantheism.  The  combination  of  symbolism 
and  naturalism  in  Heinrich  Suso.  His  affinity  with 
modern  romanticists.  The  climax  of  the  mystic  move- 
ment in  Johannes  Tauler.  His  practical  idealism. 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  III 

PAGE 

POPULAR  SONG  AND  POPULAR  SATIRE  FROM  THE  THIR- 
TEENTH TO  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURIES.  .  .  78 
Individualistic  character  of  the  German  folksong  of 
the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Its  universality.  Its 
naturalness.  Its  humanity.  The  love  song.  The 
ballad.  The  Two  Royal  Children.  Tannhauser.  The 
Stepmother.  The  Faithful  Sister.  Didactic  and  satir- 
ical narrative.  The  rogue  Amis.  Meier  Helmbrecht. 
The  tide  of  democratic  feeling. 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH  CENTURY 

AND  DURER'S  BIBLICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS  .  .  .115 
The  emancipation  of  the  religious  drama  from  its 
liturgic  origins.  The  influx  of  secular  elements.  The 
bourgeois  character  of  the  religious  drama.  Preponder- 
ance of  the  trivial.  Absence  of  dramatic  unity.  Power 
of  characterization  in  details.  Effects  of  contrast. 
The  Vienna  Easter  play.  The  Redentin  Easter  play. 
The  Alsfeld  Passion  play.  The  St.  John  episode. 
Diirer's  relation  to  medieval  legend.  The  Apocalypse. 
The  Life  of  Mary.  The  Passion.  The  Holy  Trinity. 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  HUMANIST  ENLIGHTENMENT:  ERASMUS  ....  151 
Climax  of  individualistic  culture  at  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century.  German  humanism.  Its 
defects  and  aberrations.  Its  high  intellectual  aims. 
Erasmus  its  most  comprehensive  representative.  Eras- 
mus as  thinker.  His  skepticism.  His  optimism.  The 
"  philosophy  of  Christ."  Toleration.  Work  for  social 
welfare.  Belief  in  freedom  of  will.  Erasmus  as  artist. 
The  Praise  of  Folly.  The  Familiar  Colloquies. 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  VI 

PAGE 

THE  HUMANIST  REVOLT:  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  .  .  184 
Hutten's  ideals  of  life.  His  self-characterization  in 
the  preface  to  the  satire  Nemo  (1512)  and  in  his  letter 
to  Pirkheimer  (1518).  His  revolutionary  activity. 
His  revolutionary  writings.  His  Dialogues.  The  Spec- 
tators. The  Bull-killer.  The  Robbers.  Hutten's  great- 
ness. Conclusion. 

INDEX 217 


PERSONALITY 

IN  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

BEFORE  LUTHER 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  AND  THE  COURTLY 
EPIC  OF  THE  THIRTEENTH  CENTURY 

PERSONALITY  and  nationality  are  closely 
interrelated  terms.  To  think  of  a  nation  as  a 
conglomeration  of  isolated  individuals,  pursuing 
only  their  private  aims  and  their  private  happi- 
ness, is  as  impossible  as  it  is  to  think  of  an  individ- 
ual devoid  of  a  share  in  the  traditions  of  his  folk. 
National  life  implies  a  kinship  of  aspirations  in  all 
fields  of  human  activity,  political  and  social  as  well 
as  religious,  scientific,  and  artistic.  National  char- 
acter, therefore,  is  both  the  source  and  the  product 
of  a  great  variety  of  individual  characters,  moved 
and  directed  by  a  common  controlling  spirit. 

These  are  the  fundamental  considerations  which 
underlie  the  following  attempt  to  present  some 
manifestations  of  German  national  character  in 
that  portentous  epoch  when  the  modern  world  was 
born,  the  era  from  the  height  of  chivalric  culture  to 
the  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation  —  the  cen- 
turies which  saw  the  finest  flower  of  Minnesong 
and  Courtly  Epic,  in  the  works  of  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide,  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  and 


-. 


4  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Gottfried  von  Strassburg;  the  noblest  flight  of 
mystic  speculation,  in  Eckhart,  Suso,  and  Tauler; 
the  richest  outburst  of  popular  imagination  in  folk- 
song and  ballad;  the  fullest  sway  of  realism  in  the 
literature  of  burgherdom;  and  the  boldest  assertion 
of  individual  reason  in  the  humanist  revolt  against 
the  Church. 

The  mam  trend  of  my  discussion  will  be  the  en- 
deavor to  trace  the  development  of  German  per- 
sonality in  all  these  different  kinds  of  literature  —  a 
development  which,  although  it  brings  the  transi- 
tion from  chivalric  refinement  and  elegance  to 
bourgeois  commonplaceness  and  neglect  of  form, 
nevertheless  in  the  main  represents  an  ascending 
line  of  a  continuous  widening,  intensifying,  and 
deepening  of  individual  life. 

Incidentally,  my  whole  narrative  will  be  an  im- 
plicit criticism  of  a  theory  which  has  been  best 
stated,  some  fifty  years  ago,  by  Jacob  Burckhardt 
hi  his  admirable  "  Civilization  of  the  Renaissance 
in  Italy,"  the  theory  that,  in  the  intellectual  his- 
tory of  the  modern  world,  it  was  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance which  first  led  to  the  "  discovery  of  man." 
"  In  the  Middle  Ages," — to  paraphrase  one  of  the 
most  significant  utterances  of  Burckhardt's  on  this 
subject *  —  "In  the  Middle  Ages  the  human  mind 

1  Cuttur  der  Renaissance,  *  p.  104. 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  5 

was  in  a  state  of  dreamy  half  consciousness.  It 
looked  at  the  world,  both  the  inner  and  the  outer, 
through  a  veil  woven  of  faith,  illusion,  and  childish 
prepossession.  Man  was  conscious  of  himself  only 
as  a  member  of  a  race,  people,  class,  family  or  cor- 
poration—  only  through  some  general  category. 
In  the  Italy  of  the  Renaissance  this  veil  first  melted 
into  air;  an  objective  treatment  and  consideration 
of  the  things  of  this  world  became  possible;  and  at 
the  same  time  the  subjective  side  of  consciousness 
asserted  itself  with  corresponding  emphasis;  man 
became  a  spiritual  individual  and  recognized 
himself  as  such." 

I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  a  serious  student 
of  medieval  literature  and  art  living  today  who 
would  subscribe  fully  to  such  views  as  these.  To 
demonstrate  their  insufficiency,  one  would  hardly 
need  to  go  beyond  the  reach  of  French  and  German 
sculpture  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries. 
Anyone  who  knows  that  wonderland  of  grace  and 
beauty,  of  noble  earnestness  and  spiritual  refine- 
ment which,  in  a  bewildering  wealth  of  the  most 
varied  plastic  types  of  kings  and  queens,  patriarchs 
and  prophets,  angels  and  saints,  surrounds  the 
cathedrals  of  Chartres  and  Rheims,  or  who  has  seen 
those  remarkable,  sharply  individualized  portrait 
statues  of  princely  donors  and  patrons  which  make 


6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  choir  of  Naumburg  Cathedral  a  classic  gallery 
of  human  character,  must  be  convinced  that  the 
artists  who  created  these  sculptures  looked  into  the 
world  not  through  a  veil  of  childish  prepossessions, 
but  with  the  clear  eye  of  the  discoverer,  that  they 
had  the  fullest  sense  of  personality,  that  they  de- 
tected the  human  in  man  under  whatever  guise  of 
nationality  or  class  or  station  it  might  appear.  In 
other  words,  French  and  German  sculpture  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  would  suffice  to 
convince  us  that  individuality  was  not  an  inven- 
tion of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  nor  something 
foreign  to  the  Middle  Ages,  but  was,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  natural  growth  of  medieval  life  itself. 

Nevertheless,  it  may  be  not  amiss  to  show  this 
outgrowth  of  individuality  from  the  very  structure 
of  medieval  society  on  a  somewhat  larger  scale, 
in  its  application  to  a  comprehensive  and  widely 
ramified  phenomenon,  namely,  the  development  of 
German  literature  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  six- 
teenth centuries.  And  this  is  what  I  propose  to  do. 
In  doing  so,  I  shall  purposely  refrain  from  an  ex- 
tended comparison  of  German  literature  with  other 
literatures,  partly  because  my  knowledge  of  other 
literatures  is  too  limited  to  make  such  a  compari- 
son really  fruitful,  partly  because  I  believe  that, 
if  the  rise  of  individuality  out  of  the  conditions 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  7 

of  medieval  life  is  made  clear  for  Germany,  a 
parallel  development  in  other  countries  is  thereby 
implicitly  established. 

If  we  contrast  in  a  broad  way  the  spirit  of  the 
Middle  Ages  with  the  prevailing  spirit  of  the  mod- 
ern era,  it  must  be  admitted  that  medieval  life 
was  dominated  by  collective  consciousness  while 
modern  life  is  dominated  by  individual  conscious- 
ness; but  it  must  also  be  admitted  that  the  very 
climax  of  medieval  life,  the  institution  of  chivalry, 
forms  a  connecting  link  between  medieval  collec- 
tivism and  modern  individualism.  In  no  other 
institution  of  the  Middle  Ages  has  the  spirit  of  the 
submission  of  the  individual  to  a  larger  corporate 
whole  asserted  itself  more  strongly  than  in  chivalry; 
but  alongside  with  this  spirit  of  submission  to  a 
corporate  whole  there  are  found  hi  chivalry  the 
germs  at  least  of  a  tendency  which  ultimately  was 
to  set  free  the  individual  and  raise  it  above  the  level 
of  merely  corporate  existence.  Chivalry  is  service; 
service  to  the  liege  lord,  service  to  the  knightly 
class,  service  to  the  church,  service  to  the  chosen 
lady.  It  rests  upon  the  assumption  that  compli- 
ance with  a  certain  set  of  class  conventions  is  the 
true  standard  of  conduct.  It  finds  its  highest  ami 
hi  the  scrupulous  maintenance  of  this  social  stand- 
ard. This  is  one  side  of  chivalry;  but  there  is  an- 


8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

other  side  to  it.  The  chivalric  ideal,  although  in 
the  most  conspicuous  manner  an  ideal  of  social 
decorum,  is  at  the  same  time  an  ideal  of  personal 
dignity  and  of  personal  worth.  The  canon  of  vir- 
tues which  under  the  undoubted  influence  of  the 
medieval  church  came  to  be  the  moral  code  of 
chivalry  at  its  highest  point,  comprises  the  same 
virtues  —  the  virtues  of  devotion,  faith,  magna- 
nimity, steadfastness,  valor,  generosity,  modera- 
tion, self-possession  —  which,  as  we  moderns  would 
say,  make  the  gentleman,  or,  as  the  Greeks  said, 
make  the  avyp  KaKoKa-yaBoy.  Although  in  the  first 
place  contributing  to  develop  a  strong  and  clearly 
denned  feeling  of  class,  the  moral  code  of  chivalry 
also  contributes  to  deepen  and  widen  personal  life; 
and  thus  there  arises  from  the  very  perfection  of 
the  medieval  conception  of  class  a  state  of  mind 
which  is  at  least  an  anticipation  of  what  we  mean 
when  we  speak  of  true  humanity. 

German  poetry  of  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century 
and  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth,  lyric  as  well  as 
epic,  illustrates  in  a  striking  manner  this  double 
nature  of  the  chivalric  ideal.  In  the  average  pro- 
ductions of  the  Minnesingers,  in  the  majority  of 
the  courtly  epics,  even  in  the  mass  of  the  folk  epics, 
there  is  a  predominance  of  class  feeling  and  of  social 
etiquette.  But  from  this  mass  there  stand  out  in- 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  9 

dividual  poets  who,  without  detaching  themselves 
from  the  conceptions  and  ideals  of  the  chivalric 
class,  lend  to  these  ideals  of  class  the  whole  fullness 
of  their  own  personality;  and  from  this  combina- 
tion there  arise  works  of  universally  human  signifi- 
cance, works  which,  like  the  highest  productions  of 
German  sculpture  of  the  thirteenth  century,  need 
not  fear  comparison  with  the  best  of  all  ages  and 
nations. 

I  shall  single  out  from  these  noblest  represent- 
atives of  chivalric  personality  in  German  poetry 
four  names  of  particular  effulgence:  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide,  Hartman  von  Aue,  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach,  and  Gottfried  von  Strassburg.1 

Walther  von  der  Vogelweide's  poetic  activity 
may  be  divided  into  two  unequal  halves,  the  first 
consisting  of  the  brief  period  of  his  sojourn  at  the 
court  of  the  Austrian  dukes  at  Vienna,  from  1190  to 
1198;  the  second  consisting  of  long  years  of  home- 
less wanderings  from  castle  to  castle,  and  from  land 
to  land,  ending  with  his  supposed  participation  in 
the  crusade  of  1228,  after  which  trace  of  him  is  lost. 
We  are  probably  justified  in  ascribing  to  the  first  of 
these  two  periods  the  majority  of  his  finest  and 
most  spirited  love  songs,  to  the  second  the  larger 

1  For  a  discussion  of  personality  in  the  Nibdungerdied  and  Gudrun, 
see  my  Ktdturwerte  der  deutschen  Literatur  im  Mittelalter,  pp.  123-133. 


10  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

part  of  his  poems  dealing  with  the  affairs  of  Church 
and  State.  The  important  fact  is  that  both  in  his 
love  songs  and  in  his  poems  on  public  affairs  there 
is  revealed  an  individual,  holding  himself  reverently 
and  devoutly  within  the  limits  set  to  him  by  class 
tradition  and  custom,  yet  within  these  limits  reso- 
lutely asserting  his  own  convictions,  refusing  to  be 
fettered  by  sham  and  artificial  fashion,  fearlessly 
defending  the  rights  of  common  humanity,  a  true 
freeman  in  knightly  garb,  in  universality  of  sym- 
pathies, in  fully  rounded  personality  a  peer  of 
Dante  and  Chaucer,  whom  he  anticipated  by 
generations. 

Perhaps  in  no  artistic  productions  has  chivalry 
appeared  more  genuinely  human  than  in  some  love 
songs  of  Walther's  in  which,  while  adopting  the 
traditional  form  of  courtly  lyrics,  he  fills  this  form 
with  his  own  soul  and  thus  imparts  to  it  a  new 
spirit.  What  a  charming  mixture,  e.  g.,  of  deference 
to  courtly  demeanor  and  social  correctness  on  the 
one  hand  and  of  naive,  childlike  joy  in  nature  on 
the  other  is  embodied  in  the  poem  "So  die  bluo- 
men  uz  dem  grase  dringent  "  —  the  comparison  of 
a  May  morning  "  when  flowers  greet  with  smiles 
the  sun's  bright  rays  "  and  the  little  birds  sing  "  in 
their  best  manner  "  with  the  "  noble  maiden,  fair 
and  pure,"  who 


CHWALRIC  MINNESONG  II 

wol  gekleidet  unde  wol  gebunden, 
durch  kurzewlle  zuo  vil  liuten  gat, 
hovelichen  hohgemuot,  niht  eine, 
umbe  sehende  ein  wenic  under  stunden, 
alsam  der  sunne  gegen  den  sternen  stat.1 

How  enchanting  is  the  combination  of  bashful 
delicacy  and  social  decorum  with  joyful  frankness 
and  daring  love  in  that  perhaps  best  known  of 
Walther's  poems  in  which  he  makes  a  young  girl 
recall  to  herself  the  blissful  hour  spent  with  her  be- 
loved among  the  roses  under  the  linden  tree.2  How 
forcible  is  the  contrast,  hi  the  poem  "  Miiget  ir 
schowen  waz  dem  meien  "  between  the  fastidious 
description  of  courtly  gayness  and  the  earnest  ap- 
peal of  the  heart  to  the  cruel  woman  whose  coldness 
robs  the  poet  of  his  bliss. 

roter  mund,  wie  du  dich  swachest! 

la  din  lachen  sin. 

scham  dich,  daz  du  mich  an  lachest 

nach  dem  schaden  min. 

ist  daz  wol  getan  ? 

owe"  so  verlorner  stunde, 

sol  von  minneclichem  munde 

solch  unminne  ergan!3 

1  Well  clad  and  well  braided,  mingles,  for  pleasure's  sake,  in  com- 
pany, courteously  festive,  not  alone,  glancing  around  a  little  at  times 
—  like  the  sun  among  stars.  Kiirschner's  Deutsche  Nationattiteratur 
(D.  N.  L.),  VIII,  2,  p.  16.  2  Loc.  tit.,  p.  15. 

*  Rosy  mouth,  how  thou  harmest  thyself!  Let  thy  laughter  cease! 
Shame  upon  thee  that  thou  laughest  at  my  discomfiture.  Is  that  well 
done  ?  Ah  for  the  time  lost  in  such  manner  if  from  lovely  mouth  is 
to  proceed  such  unloveliness  !  Loc.  cit.,  p.  27. 


12  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  crown,  however,  of  these  love  songs  in  which  a 
conventional  conception  is  made  the  vehicle  of  per- 
sonal experience  and  emotion  seems  to  me  a  poem 
that  might  be  called  a  spiritualized  alba  or  tagelied. 
As  hi  the  tagelied)  the  underlying  conception  of  this 
poem  is  a  meeting  of  the  lovers  at  night  and  their 
separation  at  the  dawn  of  day.  But  from  the  realm 
of  fashionable  adventure,  which  forms  the  back- 
ground of  this  scene  in  the  tagelied,  it  has  been  tran- 
sported by  Walther  into  his  own  inner  life.  It  is 
not  a  stealthy  meeting  between  a  knight  errant  and 
his  paramour;  it  is  a  vision  that  has  come  to  Wal- 
ther in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  a  vision  of  his 
having  reached  the  goal  of  his  desires.  He  has  been 
dreaming  of  meeting  a  beautiful  maiden  hi  the 
lonely  forest.  They  gathered  flowers  together,  he 
placed  a  wreath  of  roses  upon  her  head,  and  as  she 
looked  at  him,  he  felt  a  happiness  such  as  never 
before. 

mich  dittite  daz  mir  nie 

lieber  wurde  danne  mir  ze  muote  was: 

die  bluomen  vielen  ie 

von  den  boumen  bl  uns  nider  an  daz  gras. 

seht,  d6  muost'  ich  von  freuden  lachen, 

do  ich  s6  wiinnecliche 

was  in  troume  richer 

dd  tagete  ez  und  muose  ich  wachen.1 

1  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  felt  more  joyful.   The  blossoms  fell 
ever  from  the  trees  about  us  on  the  grass.   Then  I  must  laugh  for  joy, 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  13 

The  beautiful  form  has  vanished;  he  finds  himself 
alone.  But  the  image  of  her  still  hovers  before  his 
mind's  eye;  wherever  he  goes,  it  flits  about  him; 
and  he  is  impelled  to  seek  for  its  real  counterpart 
among  the  living. 

From  the  aesthetic  point  of  view  these  poems  in 
which  Walther  weaves  his  own  individuality  into 
the  fabric  of  courtly  tradition  and  aristocratic  cus- 
tom and  thus  produces  a  whole  of  exquisite  richness 
and  grace,  probably  mark  the  climax  of  his  art. 
But  from  the  historical  point  of  view,  another  cate- 
gory of  his  love  poems  is  equally  notable,  perhaps 
even  more  so,  —  poems  hi  which  the  personal  ele- 
ment predominates,  in  which  even  an  opposition  to 
the  accepted  standards  of  class  etiquette  and  con- 
duct may  be  discerned.  These  poems,  naturally, 
lack  for  the  most  part  that  poise,  harmony,  and 
finish,  characteristic  of  the  former  category;  but 
they  compensate  us  for  this  lack  by  telling  us  of 
the  struggle  for  the  emancipation  of  the  individual 
which  began  in  Walther's  time,  which  in  the  six- 
teenth century  overthrew  the  whole  system  of 
medieval  hierarchy,  in  the  seventeenth  led  to  the 
victory  of  the  English  commonwealth  over  the 
absolute  monarchy,  hi  the  eighteenth  established 

since  I  was  so  wondrously  rich  in  my  dream.  Then  dawned  the  day 
and  I  must  awake.  Loc.  cit.,  p.  15. 


14  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

American  independence,  crushed  the  ancien  regime 
in  France,  and  brought  forth  the  classic  epoch  of 
German  genius  in  music,  literature,  and  phil- 
osophy; and  which,  we  pray,  may  convert  the  pres- 
ent death  struggle  of  European  nations  into  the 
birth  throes  of  a  new  era  of  common  humanity. 

It  seems  a  far  cry  from  such  portentous,  world- 
wide revolutions  as  these  to  medieval  love  songs. 
And  yet  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  even  in 
Walther's  love  songs  there  is  seen  not  infrequently 
an  anticipation  of  this  great  emancipation  move- 
ment, a  protest  of  the  individual  against  the  dic- 
tates of  society.  What  else  than  such  a  protest  is 
it  when,  in  centra-distinction  to  the  fashionable  de- 
votees of  the  Frauendienst,  Walther  prefers  the 
word  Weib  (woman)  to  the  word  Frau  (Lady).1 
What  else  when  he  scorns  a  love  which  does  not 
help  to  raise  his  own  feeling  of  personal  dignity.2 
What  else  when  he  puts  grace  above  beauty  — for 
grace,  he  says,  makes  a  woman  beautiful;  beauty 
alone  does  not  — ;  when  the  glass  finger-ring  of  the 
simple  maid  whom  he  loves  is  to  him  more  precious 
than  the  golden  crown  of  a  queen.3  In  all  this  we 
recognize  the  same  spirit  which  enabled  Walther  to 
express  more  strongly  than  any  of  his  contempora- 

1  D.  N,  L.,  VIII,  2,  p.  71.          3  Loc.  cit.,  p.  13  f. 
*  Loc.  cit.,  p.  33. 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  15 

ries  his  belief  in  the  brotherhood  of  all  men,  be  they 
Christians,  Jews  or  Pagans; x  which  made  him  see 
the  foundation  of  all  ethics  hi  the  conquering  of 
one's  self.2  Truly,  what  Jacob  Burckhardt  has 
said 3  of  Dante  may  with  equal  justice,  nay,  con- 
sidering that  Dante  lived  a  hundred  years  later, 
with  greater  justice  be  said  of  Walther,  namely, 
that "  in  reading  him  we  fancy  that  throughout  the 
Middle  Ages  the  poets  had  been  purposely  fleeing 
from  themselves,  and  that  he  was  the  first  to  seek 
his  own  soul." 

It  is  however  in  his  political  and  ecclesiastical 
poems,  in  the  poems  dealing  with  the  burning  ques- 
tions of  the  day  in  Church  and  State,  that  Wal- 
ther's  individualism  most  clearly  asserts  itself. 
Sometimes  his  language  has  a  truly  revolutionary 
ring.  When  he  accuses  Pope  Innocent  III  of  having 
instigated  civil  war  in  Germany  by  playing  out  the 
two  great  political  parties  of  the  Guelf  s  and  Hohen- 
staufen  against  each  other; 4  when  he  bewails  the 
Constantine  Donation  as  the  beginning  of  the  rum 
of  the  Church; 6  when  he  compares  the  Roman  See 
with  a  sorcerer's  abode,  a  robber's  den,  a  wolf's  fast- 
ness 6 — we  are  indeed  reminded  of  Luther's  violent 

1  D.  N.  L.,  VIII,  2,  p.  87.  *  D.  N.  L.,  VIII,  2,  p.  96. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  p.  119.  6  Loc.  cit.,  p.  83. 

3  Cultur  der  Renaissance*  p.  245.        6  Loc.  cit.,  p.  101. 


1 6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

invectives  against  the  depraved  Church  of  his  day. 
In  two  of  these  poems  the  affinity  with  Luther  is 
particularly  obvious,  because  Walther  protests  in 
them  against  an  evil  which  wrung  from  Luther  his 
first  great  effusion  of  patriotic  wrath  and  indigna- 
tion, the  extortions  of  money  from  the  German 
people  made  under  the  pretext  of  a  Peter's  Pence 
or  of  contributions  for  a  crusade.  In  the  first  poem 
Walther  represents  the  Pope  himself,  in  company 
with  his  Roman  priests  and  prelates,  glorying  over 
the  misery  and  confusion  brought  upon  Germany 
by  the  two  rival  kings,  Otto  IV  and  Frederick  II, 
and  laughing  in  his  sleeve  over  the  stupidity  of  the 
good  natured  Germans  who  meanwhile  fill  his 
treasures: 

al  die  wile  fulle  ich  mine  kasten. 

ich  han  s'an  minen  stoc  gement:  ir  guot  wirt  allez  min, 

ir  tiuschez  silber  vert  in  minen  welschen  schrin. 

ir  pfaffen,  ezzet  hiienr  und  trinket  win 

und  lat  die  tcerschen  tiuschen  leien  vasten.1 

In  the  second  poem  he  addresses  the  contribution 
box  itself  as  "  Sir  Box,"  and  curses  it  as  an  emis- 
sary of  the  evil  Pope  who  was  not  thinking  for  a 
moment  of  using  the  collected  money  for  religious 

1  All  the  while  I  fill  my  chests.  I  have  led  them  about  by  my 
stick:  their  riches  will  all  be  mine,  their  German  silver  flows  into 
my  Roman  shrine.  Feast  on  fowl,  ye  priests,  and  drink  your  wine, 
and  let  the  witless  German  laymen  fast!  Loc.  cit.,  p.  103. 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  1 7 

purposes  and  was  only  bent  on  finding  out  how 
many  fools  are  left  in  German  lands.1 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  and  similar  outbursts  of 
impassioned  feelings  which  impress  us  as  essentially 
modern,  because  hi  them  the  individual  boldly  op- 
poses his  own  views  to  the  acknowledged  supreme 
authorities  of  public  life,  it  must  be  said  that  in 
these  political  poems  no  less  than  in  his  love  songs 
Walther  reveals  himself  after  all  as  a  medieval 
man,  as  a  man  firmly  believing  in  the  sacredness 
and  God-given  power  of  the  great  public  institu- 
tions and  ordinances,  above  all  firmly  believing  hi 
Empire  and  Papacy  as  the  indispensable  safeguards 
of  temporal  and  spiritual  welfare.  And  here  again, 
as  in  his  love  songs,  the  principal  charm  of  his 
poetry  seems  to  lie  in  the  very  union  of  these  two 
contrasting  elements  —  of  corporate  consciousness 
on  the  one  hand  and  individual  consciousness  on 
the  other.  We  have  in  these  poems  all  the  warmth 
of  feeling,  all  the  serene  contemplativeness,  all  the 
naive  childlikeness  which  only  faith  in  the  accepted 
forms  of  life  can  give;  but  we  also  have  in  them  an 
outlook  into  those  wider  fields  where  man,  freed 
from  the  fetters  of  tradition,  may  exert  to  the  full 
the  whole  variety  of  his  faculties  and  thus  develop 
in  himself  what  is  abidingly  and  universally  human. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  104 


1 8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

When  the  poet  gives  us  a  picture  of  himself,1  as 
he  is  sitting  reflectively  on  a  rock,  his  legs  crossed, 
his  arm  resting  upon  his  knee,  and  his  chin  sup- 
ported by  his  hand,  and  thus  muses  about  the  evils 
of  his  day:  how  impossible  it  is  to  put  mankind 
into  possession  of  the  three  greatest  blessings  of 
life  —  honor,  wealth,  and  the  grace  of  God  —  as 
long  as  the  highwaymen  Violence  and  Treason  are 
lurking  in  ambush  and  are  sorely  pressing  the  val- 
iant squires  Justice  and  Peace,  —  we  recognize  in 
medieval  form  a  thoroughly  modern  conception, 
the  idea  of  a  State  founded  on  right.  When  the 
aged  Walther  sees  himself  brought  back  to  the 
scenes  of  his  childhood  2  and  everything  now  seems 
so  different  to  him  —  his  playmates,  his  friends, 
the  fields,  the  forest,  everything  different  and 
strange,  only  the  brook  is  flowing  as  of  yore  — ,  we 
would  fancy  hearing  a  poet  of  our  own  times,  if 
these  universally  human  feelings  were  not  followed 
by  a  lament  upon  the  sinfulness  of  the  age  and  an 
appeal  to  atone  for  it  by  participation  in  a  crusade. 
And  finally  in  his  Leich,3  perhaps  the  most  deeply 
felt  religious  hymn  of  German  chivalry,  what  an 
intimate  alliance  of  naive  childlike  faith  and  free, 
mature,  manly  conviction !  When  has  the  praise  of 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  78.  *  Loc.  tit.,  pp.  144  ff. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  125  ff. 


CHIVALRIC  MINNESONG  19 

the  Mother  of  God,  the  sweet,  pure  Virgin  been 
sung  more  touchingly  than  here  ?  By  what  poet 
has  the  whole  constellation  of  symbols  by  which  the 
Middle  Ages  loved  to  surround  the  mystery  of 
Mary's  virgin  motherhood  —  the  budding  rod  of 
Aaron,  the  burning  bush  of  Moses,  Ezekiel's  portal, 
the  dawn  consumed  by  the  rising  sun,  the  crystal 
irradiated  by  light  —  been  combined  into  a  more 
resplendent  galaxy  of  images  ?  By  whom  has  the 
medieval  feeling  of  the  need  of  redemption,  the 
medieval  longing  for  the  revival  of  the  "  arid 
heart  "  by  the  "  holy  stream  "  of  the  divine  spirit 
been  expressed  more  forcibly  and  fervently  ?  And 
in  closest  union  with  all  this  the  boldest  criticism 
of  the  medieval  Church,  the  antithesis  between 
Christendom  and  Christianity,  the  emphasis  upon 
personal  deed  as  the  only  foundation  of  eternal  life. 
Truly,  here  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  is  revealed 
to  us  in  his  most  significant  role,  hi  his  true  histori- 
cal perspective,  as  a  proclaimer  of  universally 
human  ideals,  as  a  forerunner,  or  shall  we  say  a 
spiritual  contemporary  of  the  classic  German  liter- 
ature of  Goethe's  and  Schiller's  days,  as  a  prophet 
of  the  reconciliation  between  traditional  belief  and 
free  personality.1 

1  His  national  feeling  also,  as  attested  by  the  song  "  Ir  suit 
sprechen  willekomen,"  is  based  upon  the  belief  in  the  true  humanity 
of  German  character.  Loc.  cit.,  p.  57. 


20  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Another  climax  of  this  same  outgrowth  of  in- 
dividuality from  chivalric  tradition  is  represented 
in  the  finest  productions  of  the  courtly  epic.  That 
the  mass  of  these  epics  is  incarnated  spirit  of  caste 
and  offers  very  little  to  touch  the  feelings  common 
to  all  men,  cannot  be  denied.  In  most  of  these 
epics  the  world  seems  to  have  been  transformed 
into  one  continuous  opportunity  for  gallant  adven- 
ture. Whether  the  heroes  and  heroines  belong  to 
the  legends  of  the  Trojan  war  or  to  Celtic  or  to 
Oriental  tradition,  whether  their  names  are  Eneas 
and  Lavinia,  or  Iwein  and  Laudine,  or  Terramer  and 
Arabele,  makes  no  difference;  they  all  are  nothing 
but  modifications  of  the  one  ideal  of  chivalric  eti- 
quette which  from  France  had  spread  throughout 
Europe.  Few  of  them  call  forth  human  interest;  in 
most  of  them,  particularly  the  knights  of  King 
Arthur's  following,  the  human  interest  is  smothered 
and  stifled  by  ever  repeated  phantastic  trivialities. 
What  do  we  care  for  all  these  enchanted  castles 
from  which  gentle  maidens  are  to  be  rescued;  these 
miraculous  fountains  in  the  wilderness  near  which 
terrific  battles  are  to  be  fought  for  nothing;  these 
giants  and  dwarfs  defying  courtly  manners;  these 
lions  with  lamb-like  obedience  following  their  mas- 
ters; these  caves  of  love  and  fairy  groves;  these 
bold  abductions  and  strange  deliverances  ?  What  is 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  21 

it  all  but  an  endless  monotonous  masquerade,  a 
fashionable  entertainment  of  an  exclusive  caste? 
How  wearisome  are  these  incessant  descriptions  of 
armaments  and  garments;  of  hairdress  and  com- 
plexion; of  the  striding,  riding,  sitting  and  curtsey- 
ing of  the  knights  and  ladies;  of  horses,  hounds,  and 
monsters;  of  precious  stones  and  stately  halls;  of 
rocky  denies  and  impenetrable  forests.  Variegated 
and  motley  as  are  the  costumes,  the  faces  of  their 
wearers  are  nearly  all  alike.  Romantic  as  are  the 
landscapes,  they  remain  mere  scenery,  and  hardly 
ever  evoke  the  feeling  of  affinity  between  nature 
and  man.  Even  the  best  known  of  these  epics 
of  French  origin  and  manner,  such  as  Hartman's 
"Erec"  and  "Iwein,"  nay  even  Wolfram's  "Par- 
zival"and  Gottfried's  "Tristan,"  are  spoiled  for 
the  unsophisticated  reader  by  fashionableness  and 
artificiality,  by  the  lack  of  artistic  selection  be- 
tween the  essential  and  superficial,  by  the  over- 
crowding of  the  fundamental  theme  with  a  mass 
of  episodes  that  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with 
the  human  soul,  by  over-emphasis  of  what  appeals 
merely  to  the  feeling  of  caste. 

And  yet  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  these 
courtly  epics  in  their  best  representatives  make  it 
especially  clear  how  this  very  exclusiveness  of 
chivalric  feeling  leads  to  the  heightening  and  in- 


22  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

tensifying  of  personal  life;  how  from  the  mass  of 
colorless  and  correct  society  types  there  arise  a  few, 
markedly  original  and  singular,  individual  types  — 
either  men  who  in  themselves  live  out  the  chivalric 
morals  in  their  most  sublimated  form  and  thereby 
transform  traditional  morals  into  personal  mor- 
ality; or  men  who,  on  the  contrary,  oppose  their 
own  self  to  the  traditional  morals,  who  in  desire  for 
enjoyment  and  self -gratification  transgress  the  bar- 
riers of  accepted  respectability,  and  thereby  act  as 
dissolvents  of  the  whole  social  order  from  which 
they  themselves  proceed.  It  is  instructive  from 
this  point  of  view  to  analyze  Hartman  von  Aue's 
"Poor  Henry,"  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach's  "Par- 
zival,"  and  Gottfried  von  Strassburg's  "Tristan." 
It  will  always  remain  a  sad  document  of  the  fatal 
influence  of  classicist  formalism  upon  pre-romantic 
German  literature  that  Goethe,  the  poet  of  "Iphi- 
genie,"  should  not  only  not  have  had  any  under- 
standing for  Hartman's  "Poor  Henry,"  but  should 
have  shrunk  from  it  with  a  feeling  of  positive 
aversion  and  something  like  fear  of  contagion.1  For 
where  in  all  the  world  is  there  a  poetic  theme  more 
nearly  akin  to  the  theme  of  Goethe's  "  Iphigenie  "  ? 
Where,  except  in  Goethe's  "  Iphigenie,"  has  the  vic- 
tory of  a  pure  heart  over  a  terrible  fate,  has  inner 

1  Goethe,  Tag-und  Jahreshefte,  1811,  Werke,  Hempel,  xxvii,  203. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  23 

recovery  and  purification  been  more  touchingly  rep- 
resented than  in  Hartman's  "Poor  Henry " ?  Nor 
is  the  universally  human  value  of  this  poem  im- 
paired by  the  fact  that  it  holds  itself  strictly  within 
the  bounds  of  chivalric  conceptions  and  is,  indeed, 
a  perfect  expression  of  their  religious  elements. 

It  is  impossible  to  reproduce  the  charm  of  this 
poem  —  which,  by  the  way,  is  the  only  one  of 
Hartman's  works  based  upon  native  German  tra- 
dition —  by  an  analysis  of  its  contents.  Every  line 
in  it  is  genuine  poetry,  the  composition  of  the  whole 
of  a  simplicity,  perspicuity,  and  gracefulness,  such 
as  no  other  narrative  poem  of  this  period  betrays. 
All  glaring  contrasts  between  health  and  disease, 
happiness  and  misery,  riches  and  poverty,  good  and 
evil  —  contrasts  which  lie  close  enough  to  the  plot 
of  the  story  —  are  scrupulously  avoided.  The  ter- 
rible disease  of  leprosy  by  which  Sir  Henry  is 
visited,  is  not  conceived  of  as  a  punishment  for  his 
sins.  He  is  not  a  hard,  cruel,  arrogant  lord;  on  the 
contrary,  he  is  a  nobleman  as  he  should  be,  "a 
flower  of  youth,  a  mirror  of  joy,  an  adamant  of 
steady  faith,  a  crown  of  courtly  manners."  l  And 
his  guilt  consists  only  in  this  that  he  does  not,  like 
Job,  accept  patiently  and  trustfully  the  fearful 
trial  by  which  God  wants  to  test  him,  but  revolts 

1  Verses  60  ff . 


24  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

against  it  and  gives  himself  over  to  wild,  defiant 
misery.  His  misery  turns  into  utter  hopelessness 
when  he  hears  from  the  physician  at  Salerno  that 
he  can  be  healed  only  by  the  heart-blood  of  a  pure 
maiden  who  of  her  own  free  will  would  give  her  life 
for  him.  He  retires  to  a  lonely  farm  in  the  Black 
Forest  to  await  his  end  hi  mute  resignation.  But 
here  again,  we  are  spared  the  crude  effects  of  patho- 
logical naturalism.  There  is  no  shrill  discord  be- 
tween the  comfortable  life  of  the  stately  Swabian 
farmhouse,  with  its  sturdy  master,  the  industrious 
housewife  and  their  healthy,  beautiful  children, 
and  the  wretchedness  and  despair  of  the  lonely 
sufferer.  On  the  contrary,  a  spirit  of  human  fel- 
lowship and  mutual  understanding  is  spread  over 
their  intercourse;  and  golden  poetry  surrounds  the 
figure  of  the  lovely  child,  the  eight  year  old  daugh- 
ter, who  instinctively  clings  to  the  poor  stranger, 
follows  him  everywhere,  and  rejoices  when  he  calls 
her  his  "  little  spouse  "  and  presents  her  with  toys 
and  nicknacks. 

How  simple  and  how  deeply  affecting  is  what 
now  follows:  the  series  of  soul-stirring  experiences 
which  reaches  its  climax  hi  Henry's  recovery  and 
his  union  with  his  deliverer. 

The  child  is  sitting  at  his  feet  when  one  day, 
three  years  after  his  arrival,  he  tells  the  parents  his 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  25 

sad  story,1  ending  with  the  account  of  the  crushing 
declaration  of  the  physician  at  Salerno  which 
robbed  him  of  every  hope — for  how  could  a  girl 
be  willing  to  shed  her  blood  for  his  sake  ?  The  child 
listens  intently;  all  day  long  she  broods  over  his 
words ;  at  night,  lying  at  the  foot-end  of  the  parental 
bed,  she  cannot  find  sleep;  she  sighs  and  sighs,  and 
"  the  rain  of  her  eyes  watered  the  feet  of  the  sleep- 
ing ones."  The  parents,  aroused,  bid  her  to  be 
quiet :  of  what  avail  was  lamenting  ?  to  help  the 
poor  knight  was  impossible.  So  the  child  is  silent; 
but  all  night  long  she  remains  awake,  and  through- 
out the  whole  next  day  she  has  no  other  thought, 
and  in  the  following  night  she  weeps  and  weeps 
again,  until  suddenly  there  comes  the  illumination: 
I  must  die  for  him,  I  am  destined  to  save  him !  And 
now  she  awakens  her  parents  again  and  imparts  to 
them  her  resolve.  It  is  moving  to  see  how  the 
parents  at  first  shudder  at  the  frightful  thought, 
how  they  remind  the  daughter  of  her  filial  duty  and 
beseech  her  not  to  break  their  hearts; 2  but  how 
they  come  to  recognize  the  divine  spirit  speaking 
out  of  the  child,  and  gradually  resign  themselves  to 
give  up  their  dearest,  and  let  the  will  of  God  be 
done.  Cold  with  misery,  speechless,  they  sit  at  her 
bed,  and  yet  proud  that  this  is  their  child,  that 

^Verses  378  ff.  *  Verses  565  ff. 


26  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

through  her  death  the  divinity  in  man  will  be 
glorified.1 

And  finally,  the  solution  of  the  whole.  What 
could  be  freer  from  conventional  externalities, 
what  could  be  more  deeply  experienced  than  the 
way  in  which  Henry's  recovery  is  brought  about  ? 
Outwardly,  to  be  sure,  it  seems  to  be  the  conse- 
quence of  the  willingness  of  the  girl  to  sacrifice  her- 
self; in  reality,  it  is  the  consequence  of  his  own 
inner  regeneration.  Only  after  long  resistance  and 
grave  scruples,  whether  he  could  accept  her  sacri- 
fice, has  he  gone  with  her  to  Salerno.  The  physician 
has  convinced  himself  by  severe  scrutiny  that  the 
girl  of  her  own  free  will  has  decided  to  die  and  to 
win  the  crown  of  martyrdom.  She  has  been  strip- 
ped and  bound  upon  the  table,  the  physician 
sharpens  his  knife.  Henry  stands  before  the  door, 
he  hears  the  noise  in  the  room,  he  looks  through  a 
chink  in  the  wall,  he  sees  the  sweet  creature  that 
wants  to  die  for  him  —  and  he  is  seized  in  his  inner- 
most being,  he  is  given,  as  the  poet  expresses  it,2 
"  a  new  mind."  Till  now  he  has  hardened  himself 
against  God's  decree,  he  has  felt  his  visitation  as 
deep  injustice,  even  the  pure  goodness  of  the  lovely 
maiden  has  not  changed  his  spirit.  Now  it  sud- 
denly comes  over  him:  What  am  I  that  I  dare  to 

1  Verses  865  ff.  *  Verse  1245. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  27 

defy  God's  will!  He  forgets  his  own  suffering  over 
the  sympathy  with  another  being;  he  has  inwardly 
been  restored  to  health.  And  thus  the  poem  ends 
with  a  series  of  charming  idyllic  scenes : 1  the  home- 
ward journey  of  the  two  together,  the  return  of 
Henry's  youthful  strength  and  manly  beauty,  the 
joyous  welcome  by  the  good  Swabian  countrymen, 
the  calling  of  the  clan  for  the  selection  of  a  bride, 
the  assembly  of  chattering  and  gossiping  cousins, 
and  Henry's  stepping  forth  into  their  midst,  em- 
bracing his  deliverer  before  them  and  proclaiming 
her  as  his  wedded  wife. 

It  seems  to  me  hi  no  wise  improper  to  place  the 
poet  of  "Poor  Henry"  upon  the  same  level  with 
the  poet  of  "Iphigenie."  Goethe  as  well  as  Hart- 
man  have  lifted  a  subject  resting  upon  conventional 
conceptions  into  the  sphere  of  spiritual  personality. 
As  in  Goethe's  drama  the  delivery  of  Orestes  from 
the  pursuit  of  the  Furies  proceeds  from  the  mental 
revolution  wrought  in  him  through  contact  with 
the  pure  soul  of  Iphigenie,  so  the  bodily  recovery  of 
the  knight  Henry  is  the  result  of  an  inner  rebirth 
brought  about  by  the  sight  of  pure  human  devotion 
and  self-sacrifice.  Both  poems  glorify  the  triumph 
of  the  inner  life  over  outer  conditions,  both  are 
symbols  of  the  reconciliation  between  matter  and 
spirit. 

1  Verses  1381  ff. 


28  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

If  Hartman  von  Aue's  "Poor  Henry"  is  a  poem  of 
the  human  soul,  we  have  in  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach's  "Parzival"  a  poetic  representation  of  the 
striving  for  firmness  and  completeness  of  human 
character.  In  spite  of  all  external  and  trifling 
appendages,  in  spite  of  all  the  confusion  of  fan- 
tastic episodes,  this  poem  shows  us  the  unremit- 
ting pressing  forward  of  "  steadfastness "  and 
"  undaunted  courage,"  the  unremitting  struggle 
against  "  doubt  "  and  "  faithlessness,"  the  unre- 
mitting "  chase  after  the  body's  crown  and  the 
soul's  renown"1  in  unforgettably  impressive  and 
monumental  figures.  Diirer's  knight,  fearlessly 
riding  into  the  world  in  company  with  Death  and 
Devil,  has  in  this  poem  a  forerunner  endowed  with 
the  full  glory  of  medieval  romance. 

As  is  well  known,  the  general  outline  of  the  whole 
and  much  of  the  detail  of  Wolfram's  "  Parzival "  are 
based  upon  the  "Perceval"  of  Chrestien  de  Troyes. 
If  it  nevertheless  has  been  asserted, — and  justly  so, 
I  believe,  —  that  the  ideal  of  chivalry  stands  out 
more  humanly  and  with  stronger  appeal  to  funda- 
mental emotions  in  Wolfram's  poem,  this  assertion 
rests  upon  the  conviction  that  Wolfram's  hero 
experiences  the  problems  of  chivalric  morals  more 
deeply,  that  he  maintains  steadfastness  more 

1  Book  IX,  1171  ff. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  29 

firmly,  that  he  tastes  bitterer  doubt  and  purer 
joy,  and  thus  becomes  a  more  fully  rounded  per- 
sonality. Three  phases  of  Parzival's  inner  develop- 
ment may  be  considered  as  illustrations  of  this 
fact:  his  youthful  adventures,  his  marriage,  and 
his  search  for  the  Grail. 

The  youthful  Perceval  of  Chrestien's  also  is  a 
captivating,  irresistible  figure,  a  "  vallet  sauvage," 
proving  the  uncorrupted  sturdiness  of  his  nature 
even  in  all  his  tomfooleries  and  reckless  escapades. 
Such  scenes  as  where  he  rides  into  a  tent  hi  which  a 
"  damoisiele,"  the  "  amie  "  of  the  knight  Orgueil- 
lous,  is  asleep,  thinking  that  it  is  a  church; l  or 
where  he  lets  his  horse  trot  straightway  into  the 
hall  of  King  Artus,  so  near  to  the  king  himself  that 
the  horse's  head  knocks  off  his  hat 2  —  these  and 
similar  scenes  are  related  with  happy  humor.  Nor 
does  this  youthful  romp  lack  in  finer  feelings.  He 
is  deeply  stirred  by  the  rebuke  inflicted  upon  the 
lady  at  the  court  of  King  Artus  for  laughing  at  his 
eccentric  appearance.  And  in  the  midst  of  his 
adventurous  course  he  is  seized  by  a  sudden  long- 
ing for  his  mother  whose  breaking  down  at  his  de- 
parture he  had  so  heartlessly  ignored.  The  full 
poetry,  however,  of  this  tale  of  the  happy-go-lucky 
simpleton  is  revealed  only  in  the  form  given  to  it  by 

1  Perceval,  ed.  Potvin,  verses  1849  ff.     2  Loc.  tit.,  verses  2095 jf. 


30  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Wolfram.  Here  we  feel  from  the  beginning:  in 
this  dreamy,  delicately  sensitive  boy  who  is  so 
affected  by  the  singing  of  the  birds  in  the  forest 
that  he  runs  home  weeping,  he  knows  not  why; 1 
in  this  innocent  youth  who,  riding  out  into  the 
world,  follows  the  farewell  precepts  of  his  mother  so 
literally  that  he  constantly  misses  their  meaning 
and  constantly  incurs  ridicule;  in  this  pure  fool  — 
to  use  Richard  Wagner's  felicitous  expression  — 
there  lives  an  unconscious  moral  impulse,  an  in- 
stinctive belief  in  everything  noble  and  sacred, 
which  makes  us  feel  assured  of  his  development 
into  a  strong,  trustful,  independent  man.  When 
the  young  simpleton  in  all  innocence  snatches  a  kiss 
from  the  charming  Jeschute;2  when  he  takes  the 
deepest  pity  hi  the  grief  of  Sigune  over  the  death 
of  her  beloved,  although  both  are  entire  strangers 
to  him; 3  when  his  manly  valor  and  beauty  dazzle 
the  whole  court  of  Nantes  while  he  remains  entirely 
unconscious  of  it;4  when  at  the  castle  of  Gurne- 
manz  he  receives  the  chivalric  instructions  of  the 
old  knight  so  eagerly  and  reverently  that,  at  his 
departure,  his  host  feels  as  though  he  were  losing  a 
son; 5  when  the  beautiful  princess  Kondwiramur, 
pressed  by  her  enemies,  turns  to  him  for  help  and, 

1  Book  III,  70  ff.  4  Loc.  cti.,  937  ff. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  413  ff.  6  Loc.  cit.,  1623  ff. 
1  Loc.  cit.,  665  ff. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  31 

disregarding  all  proprieties,  herself  in  her  night- 
gown, kneels  down  at  his  bed,  and  her  appearance 
arouses  in  him  only  feelings  of  unselfish  sympathy 
and  the  ardor  to  avenge  her 1  —  we  understand 
what  the  poet  means  by  saying: 

got  was  an  einer  siiezen  zuht, 
d6r  Parzivalen  worhte.2 

Parzival's  marriage  to  Kondwiramur  is  perhaps 
the  most  original  feature  of  Wolfram's  poem;  in 
none  of  the  other  Parzival  epics  has  the  relation 
between  husband  and  wife  found  as  fine  an  expres- 
sion. Through  his  marriage,  Parzival  is  charmed 
against  all  the  worldly  allurements  to  which  his 
counterpart,  the  gallant  Gawan,  eagerly  yields. 
The  thought  of  his  beloved  wife  accompanies  him 
in  all  his  adventures.  Not  only  in  that  beautiful 
episode  when  the  drops  of  blood  in  the  snow  re- 
mind him  of  the  tears  in  her  white  face,3  but  again 
and  again  her  image  rises  before  his  soul  and  makes 
him  sure  that  there  is  no  room  in  his  heart  for  faith- 
lessness. But  the  tragedy  also  of  his  life,  the  agony 
of  his  lonely  wanderings  after  the  curse  pronounced 
upon  him  by  the  messenger  of  the  Grail,  is  aggra- 
vated and  intensified  through  the  thought  of  his 

1  Book  IV,  387  ff. 

2  God  was  in  a  joyous  mood,  when  he  created  Parzival,  Book  III, 
982.  »  Book  VI,  80  ff. 


32  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

wife.  For  his  errors  have  plunged  not  only  himself, 
but  her  as  well  into  misery,  and  now,  separated  from 
her,  hi  the  darkness  of  his  lonely  life  he  carries  her 
despair  with  him  as  well  as  his  own.  It  is  there- 
fore an  act  of  true  redemption  and  soul  delivery 
when  through  Parzival's  final  whining  of  the  Grail 
the  reunion  with  his  wife  also  is  brought  about. 
Few  scenes  of  the  poem  surpass  in  depth  and  purity 
of  sentiment  the  description  of  this  happy  meeting. 
Parzival  has  heard  that  Kondwiramur  is  on  her 
way  to  greet  him  hi  the  castle  of  the  Grail.  With 
small  escort  he  starts  out  to  meet  her.  All  night 
long  he  rides  through  the  forest.  At  dawn  he  sees 
her  camp.  He  enters  her  tent  and  finds  her  still 
asleep,  at  her  side  their  two  little  boys. 

si  blicket  uf  und  sah  ir  man, 
si  hete  niht  wanz  hemde  an, 
limb  sich  siz  teclachen  swanc, 
fiirz  pette  ufen  teppech  spranc 
Cundwiramurs  diu  lieht  gemal. 
ouch  umbevienc  si  Parzival. 
man  sagte  mir,  si  kusten  sich.1 

She  bids  him  welcome,  she  would  like  to  be  angry 
with  him,  and  cannot,  she  praises  the  day  which 

1  She  looked  up  and  saw  her  husband,  she  had  nothing  on  but  her 
nightgown,  about  her  she  flung  the  sheet,  from  the  bed  upon  the  carpet 
leapt  Kondwiramur,  the  lovely  spouse.  And  Parzival  embraced  her; 
they  tell  me,  they  kissed  each  other.  Book  XVI,  419  &. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  33 

has  brought  her  this  embrace  and  has  ended  all  her 
woe.  Now  the  boys  also  awaken,  and  Parzival 
takes  them  upon  his  arm  and  kisses  them.  Then, 
however,  the  little  ones  are  carried  away,  the  ser- 
vants leave  the  tent,  and  husband  and  wife  remain 
alone  together  until  the  high  morn. 

Finally,  Parzival's  quest  of  the  Grail.  Here  also 
it  must  be  said  that  Wolfram's  poem  deepens  the 
moral  conceptions  of  Chrestien,  although  here  also 
he  follows  huii  in  the  outline  of  the  action.  Wolf- 
ram's Parzival,  like  Chrestien's,  has  failed  to  ask 
the  question  upon  which  depends  the  winning  of 
the  kingdom  of  the  Grail,  because  he  keeps  too 
closely  to  the  rules  of  chivalric  conduct  which  the 
knight  Gurnemanz  has  given  him.  Like  Chres- 
tien's Perceval,  he  is  cursed  for  this  omission  by  the 
messenger  of  the  Grail.  Like  him,  he  now  sets  out 
to  win  the  Grail  in  spiteful  defiance.  But  all  these 
happenings  are  in  Chrestien's  poem  somewhat  con- 
ventional. The  question  to  be  asked  refers  with 
hun  to  the  wonders  of  the  Grail.  "  Qui  on  en 
servoit  ?  "  is  the  formula,1 "  Whom  serves  one  with 
the  Grail  ?  "  —  in  other  words,  it  is  a  question 
concerning  the  meaning  of  the  Grail  ritual.  With 
Wolfram,  it  is  a  question  of  human  sympathy,  of 
sympathy  with  the  fearful  suffering  of  Anfortas, 

1  Perceval,  Verses  4423,  4472. 


34  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  King  of  the  Grail,  who  because  he  has  profaned 
the  sanctuary  has  been  visited  by  a  terrible  disease 
and  can  be  healed  only  by  him  who  inquires  for  the 
cause  of  his  torments.  This  question  of  human 
sympathy  Parzival  fails  to  ask  because  he  is  led 
astray  by  the  precept  of  courtly  silence.  For  this 
lack  of  human  sympathy  with  the  suffering  of 
others  he  is  himself  thrust  into  misery  and  distress. 
And  much  more  violently  than  Chrestien's  Per- 
ceval is  he  shaken  thereby.  He  has  erred  unknow- 
ingly, nay,  he  has  fancied  that  by  obedience  to  the 
precept  of  courtly  silence  he  fulfilled  a  moral  com- 
mand. His  condemnation,  therefore,  seems  to  him 
cruel  injustice.  He  doubts  in  God's  omnipotence 
and  goodness.  He  defies  him.  "  What  is  God  ?  " 
he  exclaims. 

waer  der  gewaldec,  solhen  spot 
het  er  uns  peden  niht  gegeben, 
kunde  got  mit  kreften  leben. 
ich  was  im  dienes  undertan, 
sit  ich  genaden  mich  versan. 
nu  wilich  im  dienest  widersagen: 
hat  er  haz,  den  wil  ich  tragen.1 

And  thus  he  sallies  forth,  bent  upon  conquering  by 
sheer  force  and  prowess  the  crown  of  life  which  can 

1  If  he  were  mighty,  such  mockery  he  would  not  have  brought 
upon  us  both,  could  God  live  in  power.  I  served  him  in  faithful  ser- 
vice ever  since  I  could  think  of  his  mercies.  From  now  on  I  renounce 
his  service.  If  he  has  hatred,  hatred  I  will  bear.  Book  VI,  1562  ff. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  35 

be  won  only  by  humility  of  heart  and  as  a  gift  from 
above. 

Beautiful  is  the  gradual  transformation  and  puri- 
fication of  soul  which  through  a  series  of  inner  ex- 
periences, leads  to  his  final  victory.  First,  another 
meeting  with  Sigune,1  now  living  as  a  recluse  by 
the  grave  of  her  slain  lover:  the  sight  of  her  self- 
sacrificing,  consecrated  life,  and  her  calm,  consoling 
words  awaken  in  Parzival  also  a  sense  of  humility 
and  a  gentle  hope.  Then,  the  meeting  on  Good 
Friday  morning  with  the  old  knight  and  his  family,2 
barefoot  and  in  sackcloth,  being  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
a  shrine  of  mercy :  they  call  up  in  Parzival's  mind 
the  memory  of  long  forgotten  means  of  grace. 
Then  the  stay  with  the  hermit  Trevrizent : 3  in  the 
intercourse  with  this  venerable  man  of  wisdom, 
who  has  sought  refuge  from  the  tumult  of  chivalric 
battles  hi  the  solitude  of  the  forest,  Parzival  finds 
himself  again.  By  him  he  is  instructed  about  God's 
mysterious  and  merciful  ways ;  by  him  he  is  intro- 
duced into  the  secrets  of  the  Grail,  the  guilt  and  the 
fearful  fate  of  King  Anfortas,  and  thereby  into  the 
meaning  of  human  guilt  and  penance  at  large; 
through  Trevrizent  he  becomes  conscious  of  what 
he  himself  has  been  guilty  of  toward  Anfortas,  and 

1  Book  IX,  62  ff.  J  Loc.  cit.,  585  ff. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  396  ff. 


36  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  desire  arises  in  him  to  atone  for  it,  to  deliver 
him.  Thus  Parzival  leaves  the  hospitable  hermitage 
as  one  reborn.  He  strives  for  the  Grail,  but  not  any 
longer  in  blind  defiance  and  with  hardened  heart. 
He  has  tasted  the  bitter  tragedy  of  life,  but  from 
the  well  of  suffering  he  has  drawn  sympathy  with  all 
human  experience.  For  a  second  tune  he  reaches 
the  Castle  of  the  Grail.  From  his  innermost  heart, 
moved  by  genuine  pity,  he  asks  the  question:1 
"  Anfortas,  what  ails  thee  ?  "  Anfortas  recovers. 
Parzival  himself  has  become  worthy  of  the  crown 
which  first  in  blind  inexperience  he  had  trifled 
away,  which  then  in  futile  defiance  he  had  tried  to 
force.  He  has  been  purified  by  life.  Through 
doubt  and  despair  he  has  returned  to  the  old  cer- 
tainty of  faith,  he  has  made  the  ideal  of  chivalry  a 
part  of  his  own  spiritual  personality. 

If  in  Wolfram's  "Parzival"  we  observe  how  the 
intense  development  of  chivalric  morals  leads  to 
the  heightening  of  individual  morality,  and  how  the 
heightening  of  individual  morality  in  turn  leads  to  a 
still  further  development  of  chivalric  morals,  we  see 
a  process  diametrically  opposite  in  the  "Tristan" 
of  Gottfried  von  Strassburg.  Here  the  overstrain- 
ing of  chivalric  culture  leads  to  a  revolt  of  the  in- 
dividual against  the  barriers  of  society  and  thereby 

1  Book  XVI,  269. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  37 

to  a  dissolution  of  the  moral  foundations  both  of 
social  and  individual  life.  While  Wolfram  with 
soul-stirring  power  calls  up  to  view  the  gradual 
rounding  out  and  persistent  upbuilding  of  a  char- 
acter clinging  to  the  chivalric  ideal,  Gottfried  with 
finest  psychological  art  depicts  the  delight  and  the 
woe,  the  demoniac  charm  and  the  consuming  fire, 
the  guilt,  the  madness,  and  the  curse  of  destructive 
passion.  No  other  work  of  medieval  poetry  im- 
presses us  so  deeply  with  the  tragedy  of  human 
civilization  which  by  its  very  striving  for  ever 
higher  refinement  again  and  again  is  driven  to  self- 
destruction  and  to  the  annihilation  of  all  true 
culture. 

The  individual  and  society  cannot  be  contrasted 
more  sharply  than  hi  this  poem.  On  the  one 
hand,  chivalric  society  with  its  complicated  code 
of  refined  conduct,  absorbing  every  thought  and 
controlling  every  action.  Everything  in  this 
chivalric  world  seems  to  be  teeming  with  culture 
and  decorum;  the  whole  life  dissolves  itself  into 
elegant  attitudes,  courteous  forms  of  address,  and 
obliging  politeness.  Tristan  himself  appears  as  a 
veritable  paragon  of  aristocratic  demeanor  and 
correctness.  He  is  a  perfect  cavalier  and  hunts- 
man; *  he  sings,  plays  the  harp  and  other  stringed 

1  V,  2786  S. 


38  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

instruments;  he  speaks  Latin,  French,  German, 
Danish,  Irish  and  who  knows  how  many  other 
languages.  1  He  and  his  companions  are  saturated 
with  sententious  virtuousness,  magnanimity,  and 
noble  intentions.2 

To  be  sure,  there  are  darker  passages  in  this  life; 
there  is  no  lack  of  exciting  episodes.  Tristan  as  a 
boy  is  abducted  by  pirates.  Morold,  the  duke  of 
Ireland,  annually  levies  from  Cornwall  the  cruel 
tribute  of  thirty  noble  youths,  and  only  Tristan's 
victorious  combat  with  Morold  puts  a  stop  to  this 
barbaric  usage.  Isolt's  father  has  made  the  fight 
with  a  monstrous  dragon  the  condition  of  winning 
her  hand,  and  thousands  of  knights  have  perished 
before  Tristan  kills  the  beast.  But  even  these 
catastrophes  of  life  seem,  as  it  were,  levelled  off  by 
courtly  etiquette;  they  have  come  to  be  a  social 
pastime,  romantic  adventures,  sportlike  inter- 
ruptions of  the  monotony  of  every-day  existence. 
Chivalry,  in  short,  shows  itself  here  in  the  most 
roseate  light.  An  accepted  moral  code  simplifies  all 
decisions,  smooths  all  difficulties,  banishes  every- 
thing ugly,  loud  and  uncouth,  removes  misery  and 
distress  into  a  far  distance,  and  spreads  a  general 
feeling  of  security  and  belief  in  the  permanency  of 
this  brilliant,  refined  society. 

1  VI,  3664  ff ;  3687  ff.         2  VIII,  5020  ff. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  39 

Suddenly  an  elemental  passion  breaks  into  this 
realm  of  gentle  breeding  and  perfect  manners;  and 
all  at  once  these  elegant  and  cultivated  people  re- 
veal themselves  in  their  primitive,  brutal  selfish- 
ness, and  with  one  stroke  demolish  the  whole 
artificial  structure  of  their  social  articles  of  faith. 
The  external  occasion  of  this  sudden  revulsion  is 
the  magic  potion  which  Tristan  and  Isolt  drink  on 
the  vessel  upon  which  Tristan  is  to  convey  Isolt  to 
King  Marke  as  his  bride-elect.  Its  psychological 
justification  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  overstraining 
of  social  refinement  is  apt  to  bring  about,  as  in- 
dividual reaction,  a  moral  indifference  which  de- 
taches the  individual  from  all  social  bonds  and 
makes  him  a  prey  to  his  own  caprice  and  desire. 

With  supreme  art  the  poet  depicts  how  Tristan 
and  Isolt  succumb  to  this  fate.  For  a  tune  they  try 
to  resist.  Tristan  thinks  of  what  honor  demands  of 
him,  he  reminds  himself  of  his  feudal  duty  toward 
Marke,  the  man  who  has  shown  him  nothing  but 
kindness,  has  become  a  second  father  to  him,  and 
trusts  him  implicitly.  He  flees  the  sight  of  Isolt,  he 
roams  in  thought  all  over  the  world  to  find  some 
sort  of  diversion;  but  he  is  always  brought  back  to 
the  one  feeling,  and  when  he  looks  into  his  heart,  he 
finds  there  "  nothing  but  Isolt  and  Love."  [  Isolt 

1  XVI,  11791. 


40  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

also  at  first  struggles  against  passion.  She  is  con- 
sumed with  shame,  she  wishes  to  die.  She  wishes 
she  could  hate  Tristan,  as  she  used  to  hate  him  — 
why  didn't  she  kill  him  then  ?  But  she  is  like  a 
bird  that  has  been  caught  in  the  lime.  "  She  felt 
her  senses  sink,  she  tried  to  lift  herself  up,  but  she 
was  held  back  and  drawn  downward.  She  turned 
hither  and  thither,  with  hands  and  feet  she  strove, 
but  all  the  more  her  hands  and  feet  sank  into  the 
blind  sweetness  of  Tristan  and  Love."  1 

And  thus  both,  with  will  power  benumbed  and  in 
raving  ecstasy,  surrender  to  the  blind  impulse  that 
draws  them  together.  From  here  on  there  is  noth- 
ing left  in  them  but  love's  madness.  All  moral 
scruples  are  silenced.  Brangaene,  Isolt's  faithful 
servant  and  confidante  of  her  passion,  is  forced  to 
take  her  place  in  the  bridal  night  at  Marke's  side; 
and  now  Isolt,  for  fear  of  being  betrayed  by  her, 
does  not  even  recoil  from  trying  to  put  her  to  death. 
The  whole  social  fabric  with  its  courtly  etiquette 
and  refinement  appears  from  now  on  as  one  colossal 
lie.  While  outwardly  life  takes  its  ordinary  course, 
the  principles  on  which  it  rests  are  constantly  most 
shamelessly  mocked  and  violated.  Every  ruse, 
every  breach  of  faith  appears  permissible  in  order 
to  deceive  Marke,  the  ever-forgiving  one,  and  to 

1  XVI,  11807  ff. 


THE  COURTLY  EPIC  41 

give  the  lovers  an  opportunity  for  a  stealthy  ren- 
dezvous. This  goes  so  far  that  Isolt,  trusting  in 
"  God's  courtliness,"  1  i.  e.,  hi  his  chivalrous  for- 
bearance with  her  criminal  life,  at  a  solemn  ordeal 
commits  open  perjury  and  thereby  makes  the 
Church  itself  an  accomplice  of  her  evil  ways.  In 
short,  the  whole  career  of  the  two,  since  that  fateful 
break  with  society,  is  tuned  to  the  frenzy  that  re- 
sounds in  Tristan's  delirious  love  stammering  of 
the  "sweet  poison  which  brings  him  death  in  Isolt."2 
They  both  are  morally  poisoned,  and  to  both  love 
brings,  not  immortal  life,  but  spiritual  extinction. 
That  the  poet,  however,  should  surround  this 
love  of  Tristan  and  Isolt  with  all  the  splendor  of 
romantic  poetry;  that  he  should  contrast  it  as  the 
only  true  love  with  the  trivial  love  conception  of 
chivalric  society;3  that  he  should  glorify  the  suf- 
ferings which  it  brings  and  excuse  the  errors  to 
which  it  leads;  that  he  should  represent  Tristan 
and  Isolt  as  martyrs  of  the  inner  life  and  as  victims 
and  outcasts  of  soulless  convention  —  this  shows 
how  completely  the  chivalric  ideal  has  paled  for 
this  poet,  what  an  empty  form  chivalric  morals 
have  become  to  him,  how  passionately  and  exclu- 
sively the  fate  of  the  individual  man  absorbs  him. 

i  XXIV,  15,556.  'I,45ff.;  2"  ff. 

8  XVIII,  1 2,498  ff. 


42  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  detachment  of  personality  from  the  corporate 
consciousness  of  chivalry  appears  here  as  an  ac- 
complished fact. 

All  too  soon  chivalric  culture  decayed.  Its  decay 
coincided  with  the  political  and  social  decline  of 
the  class  with  whose  prosperity  it  was  connected. 
But  its  most  valuable  outgrowth,  the  development 
of  personality,  has  not  been  lost.  This  develop- 
ment was  taken  up  and  carried  further  by  the 
class  which,  from  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
rose  to  a  leading  position  in  German  life,  the 
burgherdom. 


CHAPTER  II 

GERMAN  MYSTICISM  OF  THE 
FOURTEENTH  CENTURY 

IN  the  preceding  chapter  I  tried  to  show  that 
the  modern  conception  of  personality  has  its 
germ  in  medieval  chivalry;  that  the  laws  of  con- 
duct which  to  us  appear  as  demands  of  the  indi- 
vidual human  reason,  historically  are  derived  from 
the  chivalric  ideal  of  social  decorum.  The  cen- 
turies following  the  climax  of  chivalric  culture,  the 
centuries  marked  by  the  ascendency  of  burgher- 
dom  and  peasantry,  are  the  epoch  in  which  this 
aristocratic  ideal  of  a  refined  personality,  nobly 
conscious  of  its  duties  and  rights,  is  democratized, 
is  applied  to  a  wide  sphere  of  popular  activities, 
and  thereby  for  the  first  time  comes  to  be  a  power 
in  the  life  of  the  masses.  These  centuries,  then,  — 
the  thirteenth  to  the  sixteenth,  —  are  the  true 
incubation  period  of  modern  thought  and  feeling. 
If  we  speak  of  the  individualism  of  German  bur- 
gherdom  and  peasantry  in  the  fourteenth  and 
fifteenth  centuries,  we  must  not  forget  that  this 
word,  individualism,  in  this  connection  means 
something  very  different  from  what  it  means  if  ap- 

43 


44  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

plied  to  Rousseau  or  to  Nietzsche.  As  little  as  the 
knight  of  the  twelfth  century,  did  the  citizen  or  the 
peasant  of  the  fourteenth  think  of  himself  as  an 
isolated  individual;  fully  as  much  as  the  knight 
did  he  feel  himself  above  all  a  member  of  a  corpo- 
rative whole  —  the  city,  the  patrician  family,  the 
guild,  the  rural  parish.  No  man  in  those  centuries 
seriously  doubted  that  the  institutions  under  which 
he  lived  were  divine  institutions,  lifted  far  above 
the  intellect  of  the  individual  and  inaccessible  to 
his  limited  judgment.  No  man  in  those  centuries 
would  have  admitted  that  he  conceived  of  nature 
otherwise  than  as  the  creation  of  an  extra-mundane 
God,  a  creation  meant  to  glorify  its  creator  and  to 
please  the  eye  of  man.  It  was  left  for  the  eight- 
eenth century  to  produce  a  consistent  individual- 
istic philosophy:  to  think  of  the  individual  as  an 
independent,  autonomous  being;  to  derive  the 
origin  of  state,  church  and  society  from  the  con- 
scious will  of  these  independent  individuals;  and  to 
conceive  of  nature  as  a  system  of  individual  forces, 
resting  hi  themselves  and  mutually  maintaining 
each  other. 

But  this  much  may  be  said.  The  individual  per- 
son and  the  individual  fact  obtain  a  deeper  signifi- 
cance, exercise  a  broader  influence,  and  stand  out 
in  stronger  relief  in  the  epoch  of  citizen  and  peasant 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     45 

ascendency  than  had  been  the  case  in  the  epoch  of 
chivalric  culture.  The  quicker  pulsation  of  life  in 
the  cities,  the  greater  variety  of  social  types  and 
conditions,  the  more  intense  friction  between  man 
and  man  —  all  this  leads  to  spiritual  stirrings  of 
the  masses  which  cannot  help  unfettering  the  in- 
dividual. It  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  the 
literature  of  this  epoch  shows  an  intensity,  a  free- 
dom, and  a  power  of  individual  emotion  and  obser- 
vation which  is  hardly  paralleled  in  the  literature 
of  chivalry.  With  deeper  fervor  and  more  rapt 
intuition  than  their  scholastic  predecessors  do  the 
German  mystics  of  the  fourteenth  century  set  out 
to  solve  the  riddles  of  the  universe.  More  fully 
and  more  truly  than  in  chivalric  lyrics  does  life 
ring  out  in  German  folksong  of  the  end  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  More  trenchantly  and  boldly  than  even 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  does  the  bourgeois 
satire  castigate  the  follies  and  vices  of  human 
society.  And  with  greater  minuteness  of  actual 
detail  as  well  as  with  wider  scope  of  emotion  than 
ever  before  is  the  Christian  legend  visualized  in  the 
religious  drama  of  the  fifteenth  century.  These  are 
some  of  the  characteristic  phases  in  the  develop- 
ment of  German  literature  in  the  closing  centuries 
of  the  Middle  Ages  which  we  shall  study  in  the 
following  chapters.  We  shall  begin  by  trying  to 


46  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

obtain  a  somewhat  clearer  view  of  how  personality 
is  revealed  in  the  mystic  movement. 

The  climax  of  German  mysticism  in  the  four- 
teenth century  is  preceded  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury by  a  remarkable  series  of  religious  phenomena 
connected  on  the  one  hand  with  the  deepening  of 
the  inner  life  in  the  large  number  of  newly  founded 
semi-clerical  lay  organizations  devoted  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  soul,  on  the  other  hand  with  the 
firmer  grasp  upon  outer  life  exercised  by  the  new 
method  of  preaching  as  practised  by  the  popular 
orders  of  the  Franciscans  and  Dominicans. 

Perhaps  the  most  influential  among  the  lay  or- 
ganizations just  mentioned  was  an  association  of 
women,  the  order  of  the  Beguines  which  from  the 
Netherlands,  its  starting  point,  gradually  spread 
over  all  of  Germany,  hi  such  numbers  that  in  Co- 
logne, for  instance,  there  lived  about  the  year  1250 
more  than  a  thousand  Beguines,  while  more  than 
forty  convents  of  Beguines  are  testified  for  Strass- 
burg  in  documents  of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth 
centuries.  The  Beguines  do  not  irrevocably  re- 
nounce worldly  possessions  or  marriage.  They 
retain  their  property  rights;  but  they  devote  their 
property  to  the  common  aims  of  the  order :  helping 
the  poor  and  the  sick.  They  may  leave  the  order 
and  marry;  but  as  long  as  they  belong  to  the  order, 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     47 

they  remain  single.  In  other  words,  they  try  to 
combine  the  discipline  of  the  monastery  with  the 
freedom  of  secular  life.  They  seek  God  in  humility, 
in  contemplation,  in  the  love  of  one's  neighbor,  in 
self-abnegating  work  for  the  community. 

What  intensity  of  religious  feeling,  what  ecstasy 
of  spiritual  longings  there  were  created  in  the  com- 
mon life  of  these  humble  seekers  of  the  divine,  may 
perhaps  best  be  illustrated  by  the  personal  effusions 
of  a  woman  who  from  1235  to  1265,  that  is  for 
thirty  years,  was  a  member  of  a  Beguine  convent  in 
North  Germany,  Sister  Matilda  of  Magdeburg. 
The  record  of  her  emotions  and  visions  is  contained 
in  a  singular  little  book  of  hers  bearing  the  title 
"  The  Streaming  Light  of  the  Godhead,"  which 
belongs  to  the  most  profoundly  moving  and  the 
most  genuinely  authentic  autobiographical  con- 
fessions of  the  world's  literature.  Its  keynote  is  the 
bliss  and  the  woe  of  divine  Love;  the  wounds 
which  it  inflicts,  the  sacrifices  which  it  demands; 
and  the  unspeakable  joy  of  the  perfect  life  to  which 
it  leads.  The  chivalric  Minnesong,  the  passion  of 
a  Tristan,  appear  like  frivolous  dallying  with  arti- 
ficial sentiments  if  compared  with  the  bitter  tor- 
ments and  the  rapturous  delights  of  this  spiritual 
Isolt.  "  Divine  Love,"  she  exclaims,  "  thou  hast 
chased  me  and  captured  me  and  bound  me  and 


48  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

wounded  me  so  deeply  that  I  can  never  recover. 
Tell  me,  am  I  ever  to  be  delivered  from  thee  ?  " 
And  Divine  Love  answers: 

das  ich  dich  jagete,  das  luste  mich; 

das  ich  dich  vieng,  des  gerte  ich; 

das  ich  dich  bant,  des  frcewete  ich  mich. 

ich  han  den  almehtigen  got  von  dem  himelrich  getriben 

und  han  ime  benomen  sin  mcenschlich  leben; 

wie  mcegest  du,  snoeder  wurm,  vor  mir  genesen.1 

So,  then,  Matilda  abandons  herself  to  the  one  feel- 
ing of  endless  desire  for  her  heavenly  master,  her 
mystic  bridegroom.  Her  chamberlains,  the  senses, 
announce  to  her  his  coming,  and  counsel  her  to  pre- 
pare for  him,  by  contrition,  by  self-chastisement, 
by  martyrdom,  by  a  life  of  holy  solitude,  by  wor- 
ship of  the  saints  and  the  angels.  All  this  she  is 
prepared  to  take  upon  herself;  but  satisfaction  she 
cannot  find  in  any  of  these  practices.  What  she 
craves  is  complete  absorption  in  the  Godhead, 
absolute  union  with  the  Infinite.  "  Woman, 
woman,"  the  senses  call  out  to  her,  "  take  care  not 
to  over-reach  yourself.  The  fire  of  the  divine  will 
blind  and  consume  you."  But  she  answers: 

1  That  I  chased  thee,  that  was  my  desire;  that  I  captured  thee, 
that  was  my  wish;  that  I  bound  thee,  that  was  my  joy.  I  have  driven 
almighty  God  from  Heaven  and  have  taken  from  him  his  human  life; 
how  couldst  thou,  poor  worm,  withstand  me.  Ojfenbarungen  der 
Sehwester  Mechthild  von  Magdeburg,  oder  das  fliessende  Licht  der 
Gottheit,  herausg.  von  P.  Gall  Morel,  i,  3. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     49 

der  visch  mag  in  dem  wasser  nit  ertrinken, 

der  vogel  in  dem  lufte  nit  versinken. 

das  gold  mag  in  dem  fure  nit  verderben, 

wan  es  enpfat  da  sin  klarheit  und  sin  luhtende  varwe. 

got  hat  alien  creature  das  gegeben, 

das  si  ir  nature  pflegen; 

wie  moehte  ich  den  miner  nature  widerstan  ?  l 

It  can  truly  be  said:  This  woman  has  drunk  the 
magic  potion  of  heavenly  love.  She  has  become 
entranced  thereby.  The  limits  of  the  earthly  have 
vanished  for  her.  She  lives  in  visions  of  the  eternal, 
and  in  the  visions  of  the  eternal  she  finds  herself. 
This  woman  and  her  spiritual  kindred  —  of  which 
there  were  many  all  over  Germany  —  are  con- 
clusive proof  that  the  heightening  of  personality 
which  proceeded  from  the  refined  etiquette  of 
chivalry  did  not  remain  confined  to  chivalry,  but 
affected  the  deeper  currents  of  religious  life  as  well. 
In  the  mystic  movement  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury these  under-currents  were  to  come  to  the 
surface  and  to  assume  most  impressive  proportions. 
Next  to  this  deepening  of  the  inner  life  culti- 
vated by  lay  organizations  of  humble  God  seekers 
like  the  order  of  the  Beguines,  there  was  another 

1  The  fish  cannot  drown  in  the  water;  the  bird  cannot  sink  in  the 
air;  the  gold  cannot  be  destroyed  in  the  fire;  it  acquires  therein  its 
purity  and  its  lustre.  God  has  given  to  all  beings  to  live  according  to 
their  own  nature;  how  should  I  then  strive  against  mine  ?  Loc.  cit., 
1,44. 


50  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

popular  force  in  the  thirteenth  century  which  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  activity  of  the  great  mystics 
in  the  fourteenth  century:  the  new  method  of 
preaching  introduced  by  the  Franciscans  and 
Dominicans. 

Previous  to  the  establishment  of  these  orders,  the 
sermon  played  a  very  limited  and  meagre  part  in 
German  church  service.  It  consisted  in  a  formal 
exegesis  of  the  biblical  text  prescribed  for  each 
Sunday  or  Holiday;  it  drew  its  material  mainly 
from  scanty  excerpts  from  the  Latin  Church 
Fathers;  and  it  was  preached  exclusively  by  mem- 
bers of  the  parish  clergy  and  their  superiors.  The 
new  popular  orders  were  the  first  monastic  orders 
to  be  granted  the  privilege  of  preaching,  and  they 
exercised  this  privilege  in  the  widest  and  freest 
manner.  The  Franciscan  or  Dominican  preacher 
would  go  about  from  town  to  town;  he  would 
speak  on  whatever  text  he  might  choose,  on  any 
day,  in  any  place,  in  the  public  square,  before  the 
city  gates,  from  towers,  from  trees;  and  it  is  easy 
to  see  how  this  freedom  of  movement  would  tend 
to  widen  the  range  of  his  thought,  to  bring  him  into 
closer  contact  with  the  world,  to  impart  to  his 
speech  a  fuller  grasp  of  life. 

The  typical  representative  of  this  new  method  of 
sermonizing  is  the  Franciscan  Berthold  of  Regens- 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     51 

burg,  the  greatest  orator  of  the  thirteenth  century. 
No  medieval  preacher,  if  we  except  Bernhard  of 
Clairvaux,  seems  to  have  attracted  and  stirred  the 
masses  in  like  manner.  His  wanderings  included 
many  countries.  Apart  from  his  native  province 
Bavaria,  his  activity  is  attested  for  the  Palatinate, 
for  Alsace,  Lake  Constance;  for  the  Swiss  cantons 
of  Aargau,  Zurich,  the  Grisons;  for  Austria, 
Moravia,  Bohemia,  Silesia,  Thuringia.  Every- 
where the  people  flocked  to  hear  him.  The  manu- 
script of  one  of  his  sermons  contains  the  marginal 
note:  "  Many  thousands  listened  to  it  at  Zurich, 
before  the  Gate " ;  and  in  other  manuscripts 
audiences  of  forty,  sixty,  a  hundred,  nay  two  hun- 
dred thousand  people  are  recorded  —  statements, 
which  even  though  they  are  palpable  exaggerations, 
show  the  extraordinary  influence  exerted  by  this 
man.  Not  a  few  fancied  they  saw  a  halo  around  his 
head  while  he  was  speaking;  moved  by  his  speech, 
many  a  proud  knight  would  return  stolen  church 
property,  many  a  frivolous  courtesan  would  abjure 
the  lusts  of  the  world.  And  Berthold  apparently 
knew  how  to  turn  such  a  moment  of  success  into  a 
powerful  appeal  to  the  feelings  of  the  masses. 
Once  when  his  thundering  words  have  terrified  one 
of  his  hearers,  a  poor  daughter  of  sin,  to  such  a 
degree  that  she  breaks  down,  he  calls  out  to  the 


52  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

assembled  populace:  "  Who  of  you  will  take  this 
repentant  daughter  for  a  wife  ?  I  will  endow  her 
with  a  marriage  portion."  A  man  steps  forward  to 
accept  the  bargain.  B  erthold  promises  ten  pounds ; 
and,  having  no  money  himself,  he  sends  some  men 
through  the  crowd  to  collect  the  sum.  While  the 
collection  is  being  taken,  he  suddenly  exclaims: 
"Enough!  we  have  the  money  that  is  needed." 
And  lo!  exactly  ten  pounds,  not  a  penny  less  or 
more,  had  been  collected.1 

Berthold  of  Regensburg  also,  no  less  than  Ma- 
tilda of  Magdeburg,  is  imbued  with  the  belief  in  the 
unseen.  For  him,  too,  the  world  is  a  symbol  of  the 
spirit;  for  him  too  the  outer  happening  is  a  reflex 
of  the  inner  life.  The  song  of  the  nightingale,  he 
believes,  fertilizes  the  egg  which  his  mate  is  hatch- 
ing while  he  sits  in  front  of  the  nest;  the  spots  in 
the  moon,  he  thinks,  are  the  tears  of  Mary  Mag- 
dalen; the  constellation  of  the  dipper  is  to  him  the 
fiery  chariot  upon  which  the  human  souls  are  car- 
ried to  heaven.  And  all  the  grandeur,  all  the 
splendor  of  the  world  is  nothing  compared  with  the 
spiritual  beauty  that  emanates  from  the  face  of 
God  illumining  the  heavenly  host. 

But,  much  as  Berthold  loves  to  revel  in  such  de- 
scriptions of  the  unseen  and  the  spiritual,  his  chief 

1  Berthold  von  Regensburg,  ed.  Pfeiffer  and  Strobl,  i,  p.  xxiv. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     53 

interest  is  after  all  directed  toward  the  actual  and 
the  palpable.  In  Matilda  of  Magdeburg  we  saw  the 
widening  of  personality  toward  the  life  within, 
the  discovery  of  a  world  of  inner  visions;  in  Ber- 
thold  we  see  the  widening  of  personality  toward  the 
life  without,  the  transmission  of  the  inner  self  into 
the  current  of  outer  experience.  Berthold  is  driven 
by  the  impulse  to  convert  and  to  proselyte;  he 
would  like  to  realize  the  image  of  the  perfect  life 
which  he  carries  in  himself;  he  deeply  feels  how 
wide  the  distance  is  between  his  ideal  and  common 
reality.  Ah*  this  lends  to  him  a  keenness  of  obser- 
vation for  the  appearances  of  the  outer  world,  for 
the  peculiarities  and  idiosyncracies,  the  foibles  and 
absurdities,  the  distortions  and  aberrations  of 
human  lif e  such  as  no  writer  before  him  possessed. 
And  up  to  this  day  his  art  of  striking  and  original 
characterization,  suggestive  rather  than  descrip- 
tive, has  hardly  been  surpassed. 

How  graphic  is  that  scene 1  from  the  nursery, 
satirizing  the  overfeeding  of  the  children  of  the 
rich.  "  Why  is  it,"  he  asks,  "  that  so  many  less 
children  of  the  rich  grow  up  to  a  mature  age  than 
children  of  the  poor  ?  Because  of  the  excess  of 
feeding  rich  people  indulge  in.  First  the  sister 
makes  a  jelly  for  the  baby  and  pushes  it  into  his 

1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  433  f. 


54  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

mouth.  But  baby's  little  stomach  cannot  hold 
much  and  is  soon  full.  So  the  jelly  comes  out 
again;  but  sister  pushes  it  in  again.  Then  comes 
auntie;  and  goes  through  the  same  performance. 
Then  comes  the  nurse  and  says:  "  Dear  me,  baby 
doesn't  eat  a  thing  today,"  and  proceeds  to  fill  it 
up  once  more.  So  baby  lies  there,  screaming  and 
kicking." 

What  a  power  of  homely  parody  there  is  in  the 
grotesque  comparison  between  the  locust  and  the 
robber  knight.1  "Wherever  he  goes,  he  acts  like  a 
locust.  The  locust  always  wants  to  sit  in  the  grass 
where  it  is  thickest.  So  the  robber  knight  always 
wants  to  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  He  scatters 
the  peasants'  fodder  and  hay  before  his  horses, 
much  more  of  it  than  they  can  eat.  When  one 
chicken  would  be  enough,  he  kills  ten.  What  the 
farmer's  family  might  live  on  for  a  whole  year, 
that  he  would  squander  on  himself  in  a  single  day, 
if  he  could.  And  yet,  a  robber  knight  seldom  comes 
to  look  comfortable  and  portly.  Just  like  the 
locust,  which,  however  deeply  it  may  eat  into  the 
grass,  never  gets  fatter,  always  is  lean  and  long- 
legged  and  gnat-like.  So  are  you,  robber  knight. 
And  like  a  locust  you  come  hopping  along  on  your 
jaded  nag,  with  your  shoes  dangling  from  your  feet 

1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  368  f. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     55 

in  shreds.  And  you  are  never  well  taken  care  of 
and  must  finally  die  a  shameful  death  —  again 
like  the  locust,  for  it  is  trodden  down  by  the  people 
or  the  cattle  or  cut  in  pieces  by  the  scythe,  when 
they  mow  the  grass." 

And  where  in  all  polemic  literature  is  to  be  found 
a  more  powerful  invective,  a  bolder  or  firmer  grasp 
of  reality  than  in  Berthold's  thundering  words 
against "  usury,"  that  is  against  any  kind  of  money 
transactions  based  on  the  taking  of  interest.1  "  Fi, 
usurer,  how  do  you  employ  your  time  ?  How  will 
you  stand  at  the  great  reckoning  ?  How  much 
worse  you  will  fare  than  all  other  sinners  who  ever 
lived  or  will  live.  For  your  time  does  not  only  pass 
uselessly,  it  passes  uselessly  and  shamefully  and 
sinfully.  All  other  sinners  give  at  least  some  part 
of  their  tune  to  better  things;  only  your  tune  is 
given  to  sin  day  in  day  out  uninterruptedly.  See, 
usurer,  ever  since  I  began  to  preach  today,  you 
have  kept  on  getting  richer  —  six  pennies  may 
be  —  by  your  pawnbroking  and  money  lending. 
Ye  adulterers,  sitting  here  before  me,  you  have  not 
been  committing  adultery  during  this  time.  Ye 
murderers,  you  are  not  committing  murder  now, 
you  are  sitting  here  properly  and  well  mannered. 
Ye  topers,  you  are  not  drinking  now,  but  are  keep- 

1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  20  f ;  cf.  137  f. 


56  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ing  your  thirst  in  check.  Ye  robbers,  you  are  here 
before  me  without  pillaging  and  burning  and  other 
misdoings.  Ye  swearers  and  blasphemers,  you  are 
sitting  here  well  behaved  and  are  keeping  your 
tongues.  And  the  same  you  do  when  you  are  at 
mass  or  at  another  service.  But  you,  usurer, 
whatever  tune  it  may  be,  you  are  never  resting 
from  sin.  Since  I  began  to  talk  about  you,  you 
have  again  become  richer  by  half  a  penny.  You 
make  money  at  mass,  at  matins,  during  the  ser- 
mon, on  Christmasday,  on  Goodfriday,  on  Easter 
Sunday,  on  Whitsunday,  whatever  God's  time  it 
may  be.  Now  see  to  it,  usurer,  how  you  are  going 
to  make  good  to  God  for  his  tune.  Ye  devils,  on 
Judgment  Day  bear  me  witness  that  I  have  re- 
claimed God's  time  for  him!  Ye  angels,  bear  me 
witness!  All  ye  people,  bear  me  witness!  " 

In  all  this  we  recognize  an  individual  of  extra- 
ordinary readiness  and  acuteness  of  perception,  a 
man  of  almost  startling  originality.  The  demo- 
cratization of  the  courtly  ideal  of  personality,  of 
which  I  spoke  before  as  a  concomitant  result  of  the 
rise  of  burgherdom  and  peasantry,  is  illustrated  by 
this  man  perhaps  more  impressively  than  by  any 
other  figure  of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  many 
respects  Berthold  is  far  inferior  to  the  noble  char- 
acters of  the  chivalric  epoch:  he  is  an  intolerant 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM      57 

zealot,  a  Jew-baiter,  a  persecutor  of  heretics.  Of 
the  right  of  an  honest  opinion  differing  from  his 
own  he  has  no  conception.  And  yet,  this  rough 
and  passionate  fanatic  is  a  more  modern  man  than 
the  highly  cultivated,  well-poised  and  harmonious 
men  of  our  courtly  literature.  With  him  the  chief 
concern  of  existence  is  not  any  longer  a  question  of 
aristocratic  etiquette,  a  conflict  between  courtly 
custom  and  personal  will  and  desire.  To  him  the 
ideal  man  is  not  any  longer  confined  to  a  particular 
class,  be  it  knighthood  or  burgherdom.  Life  in  its 
totality  storms  in  upon  him,  life  with  all  its  sub- 
limity and  all  its  meanness,  all  its  crudity  and  all 
its  tenderness,  with  its  social  claims  and  its  natural 
instincts,  with  its  delights  of  heaven  and  its  terrors 
of  hell  —  and  everything  leaves  an  impress  upon 
him,  everything  he  makes  a  part  of  himself ,  every- 
thing he  transforms  in  his  receptive  and  vivid 
imagination  into  a  work  of  art.  If  German  literary 
historians  of  today  speak  of  such  a  man  as  a  rep- 
resentative of  artistic  decline  setting  in  with  the 
decay  of  chivalric  literature,  they  forget  that  the 
only  standard  by  which  we  can  safely  measure 
the  value  of  all  art  is  the  degree  in  which  a  work 
of  the  imagination  heightens  and  deepens  our  sense 
of  life.  Measured  by  this  standard,  the  sermons  of 
Berthold  of  Regensburg  are  works  of  art  which 


58  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

take  their  place  by  the  side  of  the  Minnesong 
of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  and  Wolfram's 
Parzival. 

I  have  tried  to  sketch  the  process  of  the  deep- 
ening and  heightening  of  personality  which  is 
revealed  to  us  in  the  literature  of  religious  contem- 
plation and  in  the  sermon  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. In  mysticism  of  the  fourteenth  century 
this  process  reaches  its  climax. 

The  fundamental  thought  of  the  German  mystics 
of  the  fourteenth  century  was  nothing  new.  It 
was  a  revived  and  christianized  Neo-platonism. 
Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  more  subtle  thinkers 
had  been  fascinated  by  the  neo-platonic  conception, 
that  the  world  is  an  incessant  and  gradual  differen- 
tiation of  the  originally  undivided  and  undifferen- 
tiated  Divine;  that  man,  however,  and  man  alone, 
possesses  the  power  by  a  free  act  of  will  to  reverse 
this  incessant  process  of  differentiation,  and  thus  to 
return  from  the  diaspora  of  manifold  phenomena 
into  the  oneness  of  the  undivided  Divine.  The 
so-called  Dionysius  Areopagita,  Scotus  Erigena, 
Hugo  and  Richard  of  St.  Victor,  Bernard  of  Clair- 
vaux  —  these  all  see  the  essential  goal  of  human 
life  hi  this  return  from  the  many  into  the  one;  they 
all  love  to  dwell  on  the  different  stages  of  inner  con- 
centration by  which  man  approaches  this  goal; 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     59 

they  all  praise  enthusiastically  the  state  of  highest 
self-surrender  where  man  is  completely  welded  into 
one  with  the  Divine  —  as  the  waterdrop  is  resolved 
into  wine;  or  as  iron,  melting  in  the  fire,  seems  to 
become  fire,  or  as  the  air,  illuminated  by  the  sun, 
seems  itself  to  become  sunlight.1  It  is,  however,  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  this  ideal  of  complete  self- 
surrender  of  the  individual  to  the  infinite  has  sel- 
dom produced  such  a  variety  of  individual  life  as 
in  the  German  mystics  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
Three  of  the  most  pronounced  personalities  pro- 
duced by  this  mystic  longing  for  the  merging  of 
personality  in  the  Divine  I  shall  try  briefly  to 
characterize :  Master  Eckhart,  Heinrich  Suso,  and 
Johannes  Tauler. 

A  wonderful  solemnity  and  impressive  harmony 
is  spread  over  the  thought  of  Master  Eckhart,  the 
intellectual  head  of  the  German  mystics.  The 
whole  universe,  from  the  highest  state  of  purest 
spirituality  to  the  lowest  worm  in  the  dust,  is  to 
him  the  emanation  and  revelation  of  one  mighty 
and  eternal  will.  In  its  most  elemental  and  funda- 
mental form  this  will  is  apparently  without  willing; 
it  is  pure,  undifferentiated  being,  uncreated  nature; 
the  naught,  that  is,  the  negation  of  all  contrasts; 

1  Cf.  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  De  diligendo  Deo,  c.  10;  Migne,  Patro- 
logia  latino  ,vol.  182,  p.  991. 


60  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  synthesis  of  all  life;  the  godhead  by  itself. 
This  infinite  and  unmodified  eternal  being,  tranquil 
and  unmoved,  is,  however,  at  the  same  time  the 
source  of  all  motion  and  of  all  the  variety  of  finite 
beings.  It  eradiates  without  losing  its  substance; 
as  the  sun —  according  to  medieval  physics  —  sheds 
light  without  losing  it.  The  highest  form  of  this 
self-manifestation  of  the  godhead  is  the  Trinity, 
which  Eckhart  conceives  of  as  a  constant  process 
of  self-realization  of  the  complexity  of  the  infinite, 
and  as  its  constantly  renewed  awakening  to  full 
consciousness.  In  the  Son  the  Father  comes  to 
know  himself,  and  Father  and  Son  create  out  of 
their  common  love  the  Holy  Spirit  —  a  strange 
mythical  birth  of  divine  forms  going  on  unceas- 
ingly in  the  highest  regions  of  spiritual  existence. 
To  this  transcendental  process  of  a  continual  divine 
birth  the  visible  world  forms  a  lower  counterpart. 
Into  the  visible  world  the  Divine  is  also  constantly 
discharging  itself;  yes,  only. in  the  fullness  of  the 
world,  with  its  countless  forms  and  contrasts,  does 
the  Divine  find  its  fullest  expression.  "  All  things 
are  God;  God  is  all  things.  God  may  not  under- 
stand himself  without  me.  Before  there  were 
creatures,  God  was  not  God."  l  These  are  some  of 
Eckhart's  sibyllinic  formulas  to  express  the  divine- 

1  Pfeiffer,  Deutsche  Mystiker,  ii,  311,  282,  583,  281. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     6 1 

ness  of  the  world.  But  by  the  side  of  this  fact  of 
the  divineness  of  life  there  stands  the  other  fact  of 
its  earthiness.  We  cannot  get  away  from  the 
tragic  conflict  pervading  all  life,  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  naught  and  the  aught,  between  the  infi- 
nite and  the  finite,  between  spirit  streaming  from 
above  and  matter  pressing  on  from  below.  And 
thus,  after  all,  in  its  scale  of  forms  from  the  most 
highly  organized  beings  to  inanimate  objects,  the 
world  presents  the  spectacle  of  a  gradually  dimin- 
ishing admixture  of  free  spiritual  power  and  a 
gradually  increasing  admixture  of  dead  material 
weight. 

Man  alone  has  the  faculty  of  freeing  himself 
from  matter,  of  giving  himself  fully  over  to  the 
divine  spirit  and  of  thus  rising  above  the  conflict 
which  enthralls  all  creation.  "  In  dumb  creation 
there  is  something  of  God,  but  in  the  human  soul 
there  is  God  divine.  The  eye  with  which  I  see  God 
is  the  same  eye  with  which  God  sees  me.  My  eye 
and  God's  eye  are  one  eye."  l  It  is  only  a  question 
of  man's  becoming  fully  conscious  of  his  high  estate, 
of  his  divine  nature.  "  We  are  to  turn  the  eyes  of 
our  reason  upon  ourselves,  and  contemplate  the 
nobility  of  our  spiritual  being,  and  recognize  that 
we  have  been  so  formed  as  to  be  by  divine  mercy 

1  Pfeiffer,  loc.  cit.,  230,  312. 


62  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

united  to  the  eternal  spirit.  And  if  we  thus  come 
to  know  our  own  riches,  we  should  find  such  tran- 
scending joy  in  them  that  we  should  care  no  longer 
for  any  outward  pleasure  and  satisfaction."  1  In- 
wardness, then,  is  the  great  goal  of  life.  Through 
descending  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  soul, 
through  retiring  from  the  distracting  senses  into 
the  oneness  of  the  mind,  through  complete  absorp- 
tion in  the  spiritual,  do  we  rise  above  the  dualism 
of  life,  do  we  reach  the  Divine.  "  When  the  soul 
has  reached  this  state,  it  looses  its  own  self,  and 
God  draws  it  into  himself,  so  that  it  is  entirely 
absorbed  in  him,  even  as  the  sun  draws  the  morning 
red  into  itself  so  that  it  is  entirely  absorbed  by 
light." 2 

He  who  thus  has  fully  entered  into  the  unio 
mystica  with  the  Divine  has  become  immune 
against  the  perils  of  circumstance  and  chance;  he 
has  freed  himself  from  the  blind  superstitions  of  the 
multitude;  he  has  emancipated  himself  from  the 
need  of  ecclesiastical  conventions;  he  has  come 
near  the  state  of  human  perfection  in  which  the 
good  will  be  done  for  its  own  sake.  "  The  highest 
that  the  spirit  may  attain  in  this  mortal  clay  is 
this:  to  live  in  such  a  manner  that  virtue  is  no 

1  Jostes,  Meister  Eckhart  und  seine  Jtinger,  p.  49. 

2  Pfeiffer,  loc.  cit.,  p.  491. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     63 

longer  an  effort,  that  is,  that  all  virtues  have  be- 
come so  natural  to  the  soul  that  it  not  only  pur- 
posely practises  virtue,  but  makes  all  virtues  shine 
forth  from  itself  unconsciously,  even  as  though  it 
were  virtue  itself."  * 

It  is  certain  that  Master  Eckhart,  the  doctor  of 
divinity,  Dominican  prior  at  Erfurt,  professor  of 
theology  at  the  school  of  his  order  at  Cologne, 
would  have  inwardly  revolted  against  the  idea  of 
harboring  unorthodox  thoughts.  Indeed,  a  short 
time  before  his  death  he  publicly  denounced  such 
accusations  as  misunderstandings  of  his  teaching 
and  explicitly  accepted  the  supreme  authority  of 
the  church.  That,  however,  the  principle  of  his 
thought  was  diametrically  opposed  to  orthodox 
Christianity,  that  it  tended  toward  the  dissolution 
of  the  hierarchical  system  and  toward  complete 
religious  freedom,  would  be  clear,  even  if  two  years 
after  his  death  the  Roman  See  had  not  officially 
condemned  the  majority  of  his  teachings  and  thus 
formally  acknowledged  their  revolutionary  char- 
acter. Eckhart  is  indeed  a  forerunner  of  modern 
pantheism.  His  conception  of  the  world  as  a  con- 
tinual transition  of  the  godhead  from  naught  to 
aught,  from  the  potential  to  the  actual,  from  the 
formless  one  to  the  multiform  many,  is  a  clear 

1  Ztsch.f.  hist.  Theol.,  1864,  p.  169. 


64  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

anticipation  of  the  Hegelian  principle  of  the  self- 
unfolding  of  the  Idea.  His  ideal  of  losing  one- 
self in  the  abyss  of  the  Divine  suggests  Goethe's 
"  Wfltseele  komm!  uns  zu durchdringen"  and  "Sick 
aufzugeben  wird  Genuss."  And  his  description  of 
the  highest  state  of  perfection,  in  which  duty  has 
become  an  instinct,  brings  to  mind  Schiller's1  defi- 
nition of  the  Beautiful  Soul  as  that  state  "  where 
the  moral  sentiment  has  taken  possession  of  all  the 
emotions  to  such  a  degree  that  it  may  unhesitat- 
ingly commit  the  guidance  of  life  to  the  instinct 
without  running  the  risk  of  conflicting  with  its 
decisions." 

If  Master  Eckhart  points  toward  the  great 
classic  German  writers  of  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
and  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  his 
pupil  Suso  transports  us  into  the  emotional  world 
of  romanticism.  And  as  the  intense  subjectivity 
of  the  romantic  poets  has  led  to  a  curious  oscilla- 
tion in  their  works  between  the  two  extremes  of 
symbolism  and  naturalism,  so  we  find  these  same 
extremes  side  by  side  with  each  other  in  the 
effusions  of  this  medieval  monk.  Suso  belongs 
to  those  over-refined,  erratic  personalities,  like 
Amadeus  Hoffmann,  Poe,  Ibsen,  and  Hauptmann, 
who  express  themselves  only  in  extremes,  who  rush 

1  S&mtl,  Schriften,  ed.  Goedeke,  x,  403. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     65 

from  the  airiest  visions  to  the  grossest  materialism, 
who  revel  now  in  ecstatic  flights  of  imagination  and 
now  in  painful  reproductions  of  crass  actuality. 

In  Suso  the  emotional  tension  of  German  mysti- 
cism reaches  its  climax.  The  whole  strife  of  a  time 
torn  by  tremendous  conflicts  seems  to  vibrate 
sympathetically  in  his  soul.  It  seems  as  though 
large  and  wide-reaching  popular  disturbances  — 
the  struggle  between  Empire  and  Papacy,  the  rev- 
olution of  the  guilds  against  the  city  patriciate, 
the  religious  reform  movements  of  the  "  Friends 
of  God  "  and  similar  sects,  the  horrors  of  the  Great 
Plague,  the  cruelties  of  Jew-baiting,  the  fanaticism 
of  the  Flagellants  —  as  though  all  this  had  been 
crowding  in  upon  the  contemplative  mind  of  this 
solitary  monk,  setting  in  motion  its  innermost 
chords  and  calling  forth  therefrom  sounds  of  dark 
passion  and  fierce  power  and  then  again  of  sweetest 
purity  and  transcendent  beauty. 

With  what  knightly  courteousness  and  grace 
does  he,  the  scion  of  a  patrician  family  of  Con- 
stance, describe  the  chivalric  love-service  which  he 
offers  to  his  chosen  one,  Eternal  Wisdom,  in  his 
cloister  cell.  "  As  in  Swabia,"  thus  he  narrates  in 
his  autobiography,1  "  the  young  men  at  New  Year 

1  Heinrich  Seuse,  Deutsche  Schriflen  herausg.  von  K.  Bihlmeyer, 
p.  26  f . 


66  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ask  for  a  favor  from  their  sweethearts,  so  he  also  on 
New  Year's  night  turned  to  his  love.  Before  day- 
break he  stepped  in  front  of  the  image  where  the 
divine  mother  holds  her  lovely  child,  Eternal  Wis- 
dom, on  her  lap  and  presses  it  to  her  bosom,  and  he 
knelt  down  and  began  to  sing  a  sequence  to  the 
mother,  praying  that  she  permit  him  to  receive  a 
wreath  from  her  child,  and  he  was  so  deeply  stirred 
that  the  hot  tears  welled  forth  from  his  eyes.  And 
then  he  turned  to  Eternal  Wisdom,  bowed  down  to 
the  ground,  and  greeted  his  love,  and  spake: 
'  Thou,  dearest,  art  my  Easter  day,  my  heart's 
summer  delight,  my  joyous  hour.  Thou  art  the 
sweetheart  whom  alone  my  soul  is  wooing  and 
craving  and  for  whom  it  scorns  all  other  loves. 
Oh,  reward  me  this  night,  and  let  me  win  a  wreath 
from  thee.' ' 

He  invites  Eternal  Wisdom  as  a  guest  to  his 
table,  and  offers  her  bread  and  fruit.1  He  sees  her 
in  manifold  forms.  "  She  hovered,"  he  says,2 
"  high  above  him  on  a  throne  of  clouds,  she 
twinkled  like  the  morning  star  and  shone  like  the 
sun.  Her  crown  was  eternity,  her  garment  was 
bliss,  her  mantle  all  joys'  fulfilment.  She  was  far 
and  near,  high  and  low,  she  was  present  and  yet 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  24. 

*  Loc.cit.,p.  14.  Cf.  Herder's  poem  "Die  ewige  Weisheit,"  Werke, 
ed.  Suphan  xxviii,  221. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     67 

hidden.  She  reached  above  the  highest  of  the 
heavens  and  touched  the  deepest  of  the  earth's 
abysses.  At  one  moment  she  appeared  as  a  beauti- 
ful maiden,  and  then  suddenly  changed  into  a 
proud  squire.  She  inclined  herself  toward  him  and 
greeted  him  kindly  and  spake  lovingly:  Praebe, 
fili,  cor  tuum  mihi." 

All  this  sounds  like  an  echo  of  chivalric  minne- 
song.  How  little,  however,  these  feelings  had,  after 
all,  to  do  with  courtly  love,  from  what  a  cruelly 
harsh  and  hideous  reality  these  ethereal  visions 
came  forth,  is  proved  by  the  narrative  of  revolting 
naturalism  in  which  Suso  describes  the  fearful 
chastisements  by  which  he  tried  to  subdue  his 
rebellious  body.1  "  He  had  himself  made  an  under- 
garment of  hair-cloth,  and  hi  the  garment  straps  in 
which  there  were  inserted  fifty  and  a  hundred 
pointed  nails,  made  of  brass  and  filed  sharp  on  the 
point,  and  the  points  of  the  nails  were  turned 
against  his  flesh.  And  he  made  the  garment  tight 
and  held  together  in  front,  in  order  that  the  nails 
should  penetrate  the  flesh,  and  he  made  it  so  high 
that  it  came  close  up  to  his  face.  Herein  he  slept  at 
night.  In  summer  nights,  when  it  was  hot  and  he 
was  tired  from  walking  and  ill,  or  when  he  had  bled 
himself  and  lay  exhausted  and  the  vermin  pestered 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  39  f. 


68  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

him,  he  would  betimes  feel  as  though  he  were  lying 
in  an  ant-heap;  and  would  weep  and  gnash  his 
teeth  and  say:  *  Good  God,  what  kind  of  death  is 
this!  Whom  murderers  kill  or  the  wild  beasts,  he 
is  done  with  it  quickly.  But  I  am  lying  here  among 
this  horrible  vermin  and  am  dying  and  yet  cannot 
die.' '  And  with  a  similar  delight  in  the  repellent, 
with  a  similarly  gruesome  naturalism,  he  makes 
Christ  describe  the  horrible  disfigurements  of  his 
body  which  he  suffered  when  hanging  on  the  cross.1 
"  My  right  hand  was  pierced  by  nails,  my  left  hand 
was  hammered  through.  My  right  arm  was 
stretched  out  of  joint,  my  left  arm  was  drawn  out 
of  shape.  My  right  foot  was  sore  with  open  wounds 
and  my  left  foot  was  cruelly  mangled.  I  hung  in 
faintness  and  exhaustion  of  all  my  limbs.  The 
blood  was  breaking  forth  from  all  over  my  body, 
making  it  a  gory  mass  and  a  horrible  sight.  I  was 
covered  with  sores  and  ulcers." 

In  the  ecstasy  of  enthusiasm  Suso  often  loses 
control  of  himself.  He  would  melt  away  hi  rapture 
when  Eternal  Wisdom  initiates  him  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  transubstantiation.2  Like  a  medieval 
Werther,  he  would  embrace  the  universe  with  the 
arms  of  love  when  singing  in  holy  mass  the  Sursum 
Corda. 3 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  210.  *  Loc.  cii.,  p.  28. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  290. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     69 

This  same  man,  however,  experiences  all  the  dif- 
ferent matter-of-fact  episodes  of  his  life  with  such 
an  intensity  and  relates  these  episodes  with  such  a 
power  and  precision  of  actual  observation  that  they 
impress  the  modern  reader  as  scenes  of  present-day 
life,  and  often  make  one  hold  one's  breath  from 
excitement.  Some  of  these  scenes  stand  before  us 
with  a  truly  marvellous  distinctness.  How  a  little 
girl  accuses  Suso  of  having  stolen  a  crucifix,  and 
thereby  incites  a  great  tumult  against  him  hi  the 
town; 1  how  in  another  village  he  is  accused  of  hav- 
ing poisoned  the  wells,  and  barely  escapes  death  at 
the  hand  of  the  raging  mob  that  has  gathered  there 
for  the  fair; 2  how  his  sister  runs  away  from  the 
nunnery,  and  thereby  plunges  him  into  the  depths 
of  despair  until  he  succeeds  in  leading  her  back  to 
her  vow; 3  how  a  lewd  woman  whom  he  had  tried 
to  convert  charges  him  with  being  the  father  of  her 
child  and  succeeds  for  a  time  in  making  his  name 
despised  and  rejected;4  how  hi  a  forest  on  the 
banks  of  the  Rhine  he  meets  a  highwayman  and  his 
paramour  and  is  frightened  by  them  out  of  his 
wits,5  —  these  and  similar  happenings  are  told  in  a 
manner  reminding  one  of  Zola  or  Tolstoi. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  66.  4  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  117  ff. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  74  ff.  5  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  78  ff. 
8  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  70  ff. 


70  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

No  painter  of  the  Cologne  school  has  represented 
the  idyllic  bliss  of  heaven  with  more  delicate  and 
rosy  colors  than  Suso.1  "  Look  upon  the  beautiful 
heavenly  heath:  here  summer's  delight,  here  May's 
festive  meadow,  here  the  vale  of  true  bliss.  Here 
you  see  joyful  glances  go  from  love  to  love;  here 
harping  and  fiddling;  here  singing,  dancing,  and 
ever  rejoicing;  here  all  wishes'  fulfilment;  here 
love  without  sorrow,  hi  everlasting  security.  Now 
look  upon  the  countless  multitude,  how  they  drink 
from  the  welling  fountain  of  living  waters;  how 
they  gaze  upon  the  clear  pure  mirror  of  the  god- 
head in  which  all  things  become  known  to  them. 
Steal  still  farther  forward  and  look,  how  the  glori- 
ous queen  of  the  heavenly  land,  clad  in  joy  and 
dignity,  hovers  above  all  the  heavenly  host,  how 
the  divine  mother  of  mercy  turns  her  eyes,  her 
mild,  merciful  eyes,  so  benignly  upon  you,  how  her 
miraculous  beauty  gives  joy  and  bliss  to  the  whole 
heavenly  host." 

If  we  contrast  with  this  idyllic  vision  the  fierce, 
passionate  wailings  of  a  dying  man  whose  voice 
Suso  hears  calling  for  help,  we  are  indeed  reminded 
of  the  contrast  between  the  Ghent  altar  of  the 
brothers  van  Eyck  and  a  Last  Judgment  scene  by 
Breughel.2  "  O  God  in  Heaven,  why  was  I  born 

1  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  241  f.  2  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  280  ff. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     71 

into  this  world  ?  The  beginning  of  my  life  was 
crying  and  weeping,  and  now  my  leave-taking  is 
bitter  wailing  and  lamenting.  I  strike  my  hands 
over  my  head,  I  wring  them  feverishly,  I  turn  my 
glance  to  all  the  corners  of  the  world,  whether  some 
help  or  comfort  may  be  found.  But  it  cannot  be. 
I  am  like  a  bird  that  is  lying  under  the  claws  of  a 
hawk  and  has  lost  its  senses  from  fright.  My  hands 
begin  to  wither,  my  face  to  grow  pallid,  my  eyes  are 
breaking.  Ah,  the  thrusts  of  grim  death  strike  my 
chest!  I  am  heaving  heavily,  the  light  of  this 
world  grows  dim.  I  am  looking  into  the  other 
world.  Great  God,  what  a  sight!  The  gruesome 
forms  of  the  black  Moors  are  gathering,  the  hellish 
beasts  have  surrounded  me,  they  are  lying  in  wait 
for  my  soul.  O  God,  I  see  the  wild  raging  flames 
shoot  up,  hideous  monsters  pass  hither  and  thither, 
like  sparks  in  the  fire.  And  thus  I  depart." 

From  what  has  been  said  it  is  obvious  that  the 
traditional  view  of  Suso  as  a  spiritual  minnesinger 
is  far  from  being  adequate.  His  personality  was 
far  too  complicated  to  be  a  mere  reflex  or  afterglow 
of  the  age  of  chivalric  culture.  The  chords  of  his 
soul  were  so  high-strung  and  vibrated  so  quickly 
that  the  whole  fullness  of  life  re-echoed  in  them. 
He  and  his  compeers  —  for  he  had  many  kindred 
and  followers,  especially  in  the  convents  of  South 


72  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Germany  —  do  not  point  backward  to  the  age  of 
chivalry,  they  point  forward  to  the  great  epoch  of 
Flemish  and  German  painting  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. The  extraordinary  combination  of  deep  re- 
ligious feeling,  of  rapturous  delight  in  the  mysteries 
of  a  divine  universe,  with  minute  and  often  harsh 
and  painful  reproduction  of  the  smallest  detail  of 
every-day  reality  which  mark  fifteenth-century 
painting  from  the  van  Eycks  to  Durer,  cannot  be 
fully  understood  without  taking  into  account  the 
intense  subjectivity  and  emotionalism  of  that  phase 
of  the  mystic  movement  which  Suso  represents. 

In  Johannes  Tauler,  the  great  Strassburg 
preacher,  German  mysticism  of  the  fourteenth 
century  reaches  its  fullest  popular  influence  and  its 
sanest  and  most  rational  form.  Of  all  mystics, 
Tauler  is  the  least  eccentric;  more  earnestly  than 
either  Eckhart  or  Suso  does  he  strive  for  a  recon- 
ciliation between  the  absorption  of  the  individual 
by  the  Divine  and  the  duties  of  the  individual 
toward  society. 

For  Tauler,  as  for  his  teacher  Eckhart,  man  is 
originally  a  part  of  the  godhead.  Like  Eckhart,  he 
laments  the  alienation  of  man  from  his  origin  and 
sees  the  goal  of  man  hi  his  return  to  it.  But  he  is 
less  abstruse  than  Eckhart;  he  does  not  revel  so 
much  in  contemplation  of  the  "  formless  and  shape- 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM      73 

less  abyss  "  of  the  infinite;  he  lays  more  emphasis 
on  the  striving  of  man  for  perfection.  In  the  anal- 
ysis of  the  various  stages  which  shall  lead  man  to 
this  perfection,  Tauler  shows  affinity  with  Suso. 
But  he  is  separated  from  Suso  by  his  clearer  sense 
of  the  attainable,  his  soberer  view  of  human  limi- 
tations. With  all  his  predilection  for  asceticism 
and  renunciation  of  the  world,  he  is  without  a  trace 
of  fanaticism. 

He  openly  protests  against  the  morbid  exaggera- 
tions of  monkish  discipline;  he  preaches  self-con- 
trol, not  self-elimination.  In  the  fine  comparison  of 
the  human  soul  with  the  vine,  he  represents  human 
nature  as  an  essentially  sound  and  hardy  plant 
whose  growth  is  to  be  furthered  by  rational  prun- 
ing and  must  not  be  stunted  by  senseless  mutila- 
tion. He  asserts  that  a  life  of  honest  labor  and 
faithful  fulfilment  of  every-day  tasks  is  more 
pleasing  to  God  than  eccentric  revelling  in  high 
inspirations.1  "  Many  a  man  is  busy  in  the  world 
and  works  for  his  wife  and  children,  and  many  a 
man  sits  in  his  shop  and  makes  shoes  to  get  a  living, 
and  some  poor  people  go  from  village  to  village  to 
earn  their  bread  with  great  trouble;  and,  I  tell  you, 
all  these  may  fare  a  hundred  tunes  better  before 
God  than  some  would-be  prophets."  "  I  know  one 

1  Die  Predigten  Tauler s,  ed.  by  F.  Vetter,  in:  Deutsche  Texte  des 
Mitlelalters,  «,  179. 


74  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  the  greatest  Friends  of  God,  who  all  his  life  has 
been  a  farmer  and  is  so  now.  And  he  once  asked  the 
Lord  whether  he  should  give  up  farming  and  sit  in 
church.  And  the  Lord  said,  'No,  he  should  rather 
go  on  earning  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow; 
that  was  the  best  service  he  could  give  to  Him.' ' 
Tauler,  then,  believes  in  the  divine  origin  and  the 
divine  mission  of  every  calling  and  every  kind  of 
activity;  with  truly  democratic  conviction  he 
praises  work  as  the  truest  title  to  nobility;  in  the 
right  conception  of  work  he  sees  the  way  to  social 
peace.1  "  One  can  spin,  another  can  make  shoes, 
and  some  have  great  aptness  for  all  sorts  of  busi- 
ness, so  that  they  can  earn  a  great  deal,  while 
others  are  altogether  without  this  quickness.  These 
are  all  gifts  proceeding  from  the  Spirit  of  God.  If 
I  were  not  a  priest,  but  were  a  member  of  a  guild, 
I  should  take  it  as  a  great  favor  that  I  knew  how 
to  make  shoes,  and  should  try  to  make  them  better 
than  any  one  else,  and  would  gladly  earn  my  bread 
by  the  labor  of  my  hands.  So  let  every  one  see 
to  his  appointed  office,  and  all  work  thereby  for  the 
common  good." 

In  all  this  there  is  revealed  an  individualist  in  the 
best  sense,  a  man  who,  standing  in  the  midst  of  life, 
has  an  open  mind  for  the  needs  and  the  duties  of  all 
classes  and  of  each  individual,  and  who  has  before 

1  Ed.  Vetter,  loc.  cit.,  p.  177. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     75 

his  eye  the  ideal  of  a  democratic  society  resting 
upon  the  mutual  acceptance  and  free  co-operation 
of  each  and  all.  The  fullest  significance,  however, 
of  Tauler's  individualism  comes  to  light  in  his 
utterances  on  the  last  and  highest  questions,  on  the 
relation  of  the  individual  to  God.  None  of  the 
mystics  has  conceived  of  the  unio  mystica,  the 
sinking  of  deified  man  in  the  infinite,  in  so  genu- 
inely human  a  manner,  or  in  terms  so  far  raised 
above  all  exclusively  ecclesiastical  views.  With 
what  a  deep,  manly  earnestness  does  he  oppose  to 
external  conventional  churchliness  the  inner  self- 
scrutiny  and  self-discipline  of  the  individual.1 
"  Behold,  dear  friend,  if  thou  shouldst  spend  all  thy 
years  in  running  from  church  to  church,  thou  must 
look  for  and  receive  help  from  within,  or  thou  wilt 
never  come  to  any  good;  however  thou  mayest 
seek  and  inquire,  thou  must  also  be  willing  to  be 
tormented  without  succor  from  the  outward  help 
of  any  creature.  I  tell  you,  children,  that  the  very 
holiest  man  I  ever  saw  in  outward  conduct  and 
inward  life  had  never  heard  more  than  five  ser- 
mons in  all  his  days.  Let  the  common  people  run 
about  and  hear  all  they  can,  that  they  may  not  fall 
into  despair  or  unbelief;  but  know  that  all  who 
would  be  God's,  inwardly  and  outwardly,  turn  to 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  213. 


76  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

themselves  and  retire  within."  With  what  a  glow 
of  sacred  conviction  does  he  describe  the  necessity 
of  ever  deeper  scrutiny,  ever  higher  striving,  ever 
purer  knowledge,  ever  freer  and  fuller  surrender, 
until  at  last  man,  without  the  interposition  of  any 
external  institution,  finds  himself  indissolubly 
welded  into  one  with  the  Divine.1  "  And  if  such  a 
man  were  dragged  into  the  bottom  of  hell,  then 
there  would  be  the  kingdom  of  God  and  eternal 
bliss  in  hell."  And  what  a  truly  grand  exaltation, 
what  a  wonderful  vision  of  human  possibilities, 
is  there  in  the  picture  which  Tauler  draws  of  this 
state  of  ideal  humanity.2  "  When  through  all  man- 
ner of  exercises,  the  outward  man  has  been  con- 
verted into  the  inward,  spiritual  man,  and  thus  the 
two,  that  is  to  say,  the  powers  of  the  senses  and  the 
powers  of  the  reason,  are  gathered  up  into  the  very 
centre  of  the  man's  being,  —  the  unseen  depths  of 
his  spirit,  wherein  lies  the  image  of  God,  —  and 
thus  he  flings  himself  into  the  divine  abyss  in  which 
he  dwelt  eternally  before  he  was  created,  then, 
when  God  finds  the  man  thus  simply  and  nakedly 
turned  towards  him,  the  godhead  bends  down  and 
descends  into  the  depths  of  the  pure,  waiting  soul, 
and  transforms  the  created  soul,  drawing  it  up  into 
the  uncreated  essence,  so  that  the  spirit  becomes 

1  Loc.  cit.,  p.  33.  2  Loc.  tit.,  p.  363. 


FOURTEENTH  CENTURY  MYSTICISM     77 

one  with  him.  Could  such  a  man  behold  himself, 
he  would  see  himself  so  noble  that  he  would  fancy 
himself  God,  and  see  himself  a  thousand  times 
nobler  than  he  is  in  himself,  and  would  perceive  all 
the  thoughts  and  purposes,  words  and  works,  and 
have  all  the  knowledge  of  all  men  that  ever  were." 

Here,  we  may  say,  the  individualistic  tendency 
of  medieval  German  mysticism  has  reached  its 
consummation.  Here  the  conception  of  person- 
ality has  been  heightened  and  deepened  to  such  an 
extent  that  it  seems  impossible  to  heighten  and 
deepen  it  further. 

Surely,  whatever  formulas  have  been  employed 
since  Tauler's  time  to  define  the  ideal  of  human 
existence  —  the  glorification  of  reason  by  the 
Humanists,  Luther's  exaltation  of  faith,  Rous- 
seau's gospel  of  nature,  Goethe's  and  Schiller's 
apotheosis  of  culture,  Nietzsche's  proclamation  of 
the  Superman  —  they  are  nothing  but  ever  new 
attempts  at  re-stating  in  new  terms  what  Tauler 
felt  to  be  the  fundamental  need  of  life :  the  need  of 
man's  being  at  one  with  himself ,  if  he  is  to  conquer 
the  infinite. 


CHAPTER  III 

POPULAR  SONG  AND  POPULAR  SATIRE  FROM 

THE  THIRTEENTH  TO  THE  SIXTEENTH 

CENTURIES 

THERE  seems  to  be  little  in  common  between 
mysticism  and  folksong.  And  yet,  it  is  not  an 
accident  that  the  fourteenth  century,  which  wit- 
nessed the  climax  of  German  mystic  thought,  also 
witnessed  the  first  great  outburst  of  German  popu- 
lar song.  It  is  not  an  accident  that  during  the 
same  decades  when  the  disciples  of  Suso  and  Tauler 
in  monastic  seclusion  would  penetrate  into  the 
depths  of  the  divine  and  search  for  selfhood  in  the 
infinite,  the  Limburg  Chronicle  should  have  been 
able  to  relate  from  year  to  year: l  "At  this  tune 
they  whistled  and  sang  in  the  lands  near  the  Rhine 
and  the  Main  in  village  streets  and  on  country 
roads  this  or  that  or  such  and  such  a  song."  In  a 
different  manner  from  mysticism  but  for  all  that 
no  less  audibly  than  mysticism,  does  the  popular 
song,  from  the  fourteenth  century  to  the  sixteenth 
proclaim  the  important  historic  process  which 
forms  the  principal  note  of  the  whole  epoch  of  bur- 

1  Limburger  Chronik  ed.  A.  Wyss,  pp.  56,  65,  70,  74,  75. 
78 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  79 

gher  ascendancy:  the  heightening  of  individuality, 
the  deepening  of  the  inner  life,  the  democratization 
of  personality. 

From  the  days  of  Herder's  "  Von  deutscher  Art 
und  Kunst "  to  Professor  Gummere's  "  The  Begin- 
nings of  Poetry  "  it  has  been  asserted  over  and  over 
again  that  popular  song  is  not  the  product  and  prop- 
erty of  an  individual,  but  is  produced  and  owned 
by  the  whole  people.  This  assertion  contains  an 
important  truth.  A  new  song,  whoever  be  its  au- 
thor, is  taken  up  by  the  multitude;  it  is  sung  by  so 
many  different  persons,  in  so  many  different  ways, 
on  so  many  different  occasions,  that  in  the  course  of 
tune,  through  additions,  omissions,  and  transforma- 
tions, it  may  lose  its  original  character  and  become 
as  it  were  something  impersonal.  It  is  moulded,  so 
to  speak,  by  the  stream  of  public  imagination,  as 
the  pebbles  in  the  brook  are  moulded  and  re- 
moulded by  the  current  of  the  water  which  carries 
them  along.  This  also  is  unquestionably  true  —  as 
Professor  Blicher  has  shown  in  his  admirable 
"  Arbeit  und  Rhythmus  "  —  that  a  large  part  of 
popular  song  originally  was  a  rhythmic  accompani- 
ment to  the  common  activity  of  groups  of  people, 
be  it  manual  labor  or  religious  rites  or  communal 
festivities,  and,  in  so  far  as  this  was  the  case,  did 
express  not  so  much  the  feelings  of  an  individual  as 


8o  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  groups  of  individuals,  and  was  therefore,  from 
its  very  start,  in  essence  as  well  as  in  form  anony- 
mous. But  all  this  cannot  alter  the  fact  that  the 
German  folksong  of  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages,  if 
we  wish  to  determine  its  peculiar  place  in  the  de- 
velopment of  German  culture,  must  be  regarded  as 
a  most  impressive,  collective  testimony  to  an  ex- 
traordinary heightening  of  personal  sensibility  and 
personal  power  of  imagination,  among  masses  of 
people. 

The  very  manner  in  which  the  anonymity  of 
these  songs  is  constantly  encroached  upon  by  sub- 
jective allusions,  makes  us  at  the  outset  divine  the 
personal  experience,  the  individual  situation  from 
which  each  song  has  sprung.  In  many  cases,  the 
very  first  line  indicates  the  subjective  character  of 
the  whole  by  introducing  an  I,  Thou,  We,  or  You: 
"  I  heard  a  sickle  rustling  "  —  "I  know  a  sweet 
brown  lassie  "  —  "I  stood  of  an  early  morning  "  — 
"  I  rode  with  cheer  through  a  forest  "  —  "  Thou 
rider  gallant  and  noble  "  —  "  What  shall  we  now 
be  a-doing  "  —  "  Come  on,  ye  boon  companions  " 
—  similar  uses  of  the  first  or  second  personal  pro- 
noun in  the  opening  line  of  a  folksong  might  easily 
be  multiplied.  The  last  stanza  frequently  begins 
with  the  question:  "  Who  is  it  that  sang  us  this 
ditty  ?  "  and  in  the  answer  to  this  question  the 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  8 1 

author,  if  he  does  not  openly  give  his  name,  likes  at 
least  to  designate  his  occupation  and  station  in  life. 
The  answers  are  varied  enough:  "  a  landsknecht 
free"  —  "three  landsknechts  good  at  Magdeburg 
town"  —  "a  sturdy  boy  from  Switzerland"  —  "a 
journeyman  "  —  "a  baker's  apprentice  "  —  "a 
butcher's  son" — "a  simple  peasant" — "a  miner" 

—  "a  rider  brave"  —  "two  riders  brave,  an  old 
and  a  young  one"  —  "a  scribe"  —  "a  student" 

—  "a  fisherman"  —  "a  pilgrim"  —  "a  poor  beg- 
gar "  —  "  three  maidens  at  Vienna. ' '   Occasionally 
we  hear  a  frank  expression  of  the  author's  satis- 
faction with  himself  and  his  production: 

Wer  ist,  der  uns  das  liedlein  sang 
Aus  freiem  mut,  ja  mut  ? 
Das  tet  eins  reichen  bauren  son, 
War  gar  ein  junges  blut.2 

And  at  times  the  author  cannot  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  telling  his  hearers  of  some  personal  experi- 
ence from  his  own  life  which  has  either  no  connec- 
tion at  all  or  only  a  slight  one  with  the  subject  of 
this  particular  song: 

Der  uns  disz  neuwe  liedlein  sang, 
Er  hats  gar  wohl  gesungen; 
Er  ist  dreimal  in  Frankreich  gewest 
Und  allzeit  wieder  kummen.1 

1  Erk  und  Boehme,  Deutscher  Liederhort,  ii,  260. 
1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  471. 


82  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

In  short,  the  personality  of  the  author,  his  class,  his 
calling,  his  experiences,  present  themselves  to  us  in 
many  of  these  songs  clearly  and  palpably,  one 
might  say :  without,  if  not  contrary  to,  the  intention 
of  the  author  himself. 

And  now  the  subject  matter  and  the  form  of 
these  songs.  There  is  hardly  a  side  of  human  char- 
acter, hardly  a  phase  of  human  life,  hardly  an 
event  in  national  history,  which  did  not  find  expres- 
sion hi  them.  It  is  as  though  the  circulation  of  the 
national  body  had  been  quickened  and  its  sensibili- 
ties heightened;  as  though  people  were  seeing  with 
keener  eyes  and  listening  with  more  receptive  ears; 
as  though  they  were  gathering  more  intently  the 
thousandfold  impressions  of  the  inner  and  the  outer 
world:  of  stars  and  clouds,  of  trees  and  brooks,  of 
love  and  longing,  of  crime  and  revenge,  of  broken 
faith  and  heroic  deeds;  and  as  though  all  these 
impressions  were  condensed  into  a  living  form,  an 
artistic  image,  a  personal  creation,  in  popular  song. 

The  folksong  of  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and 
sixteenth  centuries  is  not  only  a  worthy  successor 
of  the  chivalric  Minnesong,  but  it  is  also  its  enlarge- 
ment and  fulfilment.  It  surpasses  the  chivalric 
Minnesong  hi  range  of  subjects,  in  depth  of  feeling, 
hi  human  sympathy,  in  power  of  presentation. 
While  courtly  lyric  even  in  its  best  representatives 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  83 

remains  the  expression  of  class  consciousness,  how- 
ever refined  and  cultivated  this  consciousness  may 
be,  the  folksong  of  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages  is 
universal.    It  is  folksong  not  in  the  sense  that  it 
expressed  only  the  feelings  of  the  common  folk;  it 
addresses  itself  to  high  and  low,  poor  and  rich, 
learned  and  unlearned.    Like  the  sermon  and  the 
mystery  plays  of  the  fifteenth  century,  like  the 
Gothic  cathedrals  with  the  popular  language  of 
their  altar  pieces  and  portal  sculptures,  the  folk- 
song of  that  period  also  was  a  spiritual  bond  em- 
bracing all  classes  and  ranks  of  the  people.    Oldest 
saga  and  most  recent  event,  public  affairs  and  the 
secrets  of  the  heart,  longing  for  eternity  and  enjoy- 
ment of  the  moment,  tenderest  love  and  frivolous 
banter,   jubilant   exultation   and   nameless   woe, 
romantic  adventure  and  wedlock  commonplace, 
robber-knight  arrogance  and  peasant  pride,  jour- 
neymen's wanderings  and  guild  traditions,  childish 
play  and  Last  Judgment  terror  —  whatever  stirred 
the  life  of  those  times,  it  all  found  a  direct  and 
artless  response  in  popular  song. 

In  refinement  of  form  the  folksong,  for  the  most 
part,  is  inferior  to  the  lyrics  of  chivalry.  It  has 
something  bourgeois-like,  homely,  and  unpreten- 
tious. If  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  reminds 
us  of  the  grace  and  delicacy  of  the  sculptures  of 


84  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Strassburg  and  Bamberg  cathedrals,  the  folksong 
frequently  suggests  the  bluffness  and  angularity  of 
a  relief  by  Adam  Kraft.  The  suddenness  of  its 
transitions,  the  fragmentariness  and  abruptness  of 
its  presentation  —  which  appealed  so  much  to 
Herder  and  the  romanticists  —  often  leads  to 
obscurity  and  ambiguousness.  Side  by  side  with 
traits  of  supreme  beauty  and  entrancing  charm  it 
shows  at  times  features  of  gross,  repellent  vul- 
garity; just  as  in  Flemish  painting  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  enchanting  naivete  and  grace  of  expression 
is  so  often  found  side  by  side  with  harshness  and 
commonness  of  form.  But  what  do  all  these  for- 
mal defects  count  compared  with  the  one  fact  that 
the  folksong  breaks  forth  from  the  personal  experi- 
ence, directly  and  without  circumlocution,  and 
thereby  brings  to  view  reality  —  both  inner  and 
outer  —  hi  all  its  freshness,  with  all  its  contrasts, 
all  its  paradoxes,  all  its  mysteries  and  riddles. 
Every  genuine  folksong  is  born  from  the  moment; 
it  is  a  piece  of  nature ;  it  is  a  sound  produced  by  the 
mighty  whir  of  the  world  hi  an  individual  soul, 
which,  reverberating  in  other  souls,  echoes  the 
common  feeling  of  life. 

The  mass  of  chivalric  Minnesong,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  dominated  by  society  convention;  only 
in  a  few  exceptional  personalities  the  feeling  of 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  85 

genuine  humanity  rang  out.  A  similar  danger 
threatened  the  folksong  of  the  end  of  the  Middle 
Ages:  its  bulk  shows  the  deteriorating  influence 
exerted  by  the  crowd;  only  the  minority  of  these 
songs  is  unaffected  by  the  trivial,  the  sensational, 
the  commonplace.  But  if  we  compare  the  best  of 
the  folksong  with  the  best  of  the  Minnesong,  we 
must  admit  the  folksong  leads  us  into  a  freer, 
wider,  and  essentially  sounder  world.  We  may 
transport  ourselves  back  into  the  conceptions  of 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  we  may  enjoy  his 
images  of  life,  we  may  sympathize  with  his  ideals. 
But  the  folksong  we  experience  directly  in  our- 
selves; we  feel  our  kinship  with  it;  we  are  not 
separated  from  it  by  social  barriers  or  historical 
traditions.  "  Hier  bin  ich  Mensch,  hier  darf  ich's 
sein." 

From  the  great  wealth  of  the  popular  love  song, 
with  its  manifold  expressions  of  parting  and  long- 
ing, of  wooing  and  grieving,  of  rejoicing  and  mourn- 
ing and  faithfulness  unto  death,  I  select  four  short 
songs  which  seem  to  me  particularly  well  adapted 
to  make  us  feel  the  nobly  simple,  universally 
human  keynote  of  this  love  poetry. 

What  is  all  the  fastidious  and  laborious  land- 
scape painting  of  the  courtly  Minnesong  compared 
with  the  mute  expression  of  instinctive  affinity  be- 


86  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

tween  man  and  nature  contained  in  the  touching 
words  of  the  lonely  lover  who  makes  the  linden 
tree  the  confidant  of  his  sadness: 

Es  stet  ein  lind  in  diesem  tal, 
Ach  gott,  was  tut  sie  da  ? 
Sie  will  mir  helfen  trauren, 
Dass  ich  kein  bulen  hab.1 

And  still  more  clearly  does  this  affinity  express 
itself  in  the  next  stanza  in  which  the  youth  com- 
forts both  himself  and  the  linden  tree : 

So  traur,  du  feines  lindelein, 

Und  traur  das  jahr  allein! 

Hat  mir  ein  brauns  meidlein  verheiszen, 

Sie  woll  mein  eigen  sein  — 

Only  a  year  it  will  last;  then  both  the  youth  and 
the  linden  tree  will  be  able  to  rejoice.  For  then  he 
will  have  his  sweetheart  for  his  own ;  and  he  knows, 
the  tree  will  be  glad  for  him. 

What  are  all  the  romantic  adventures  of  chivalric 
poetry  compared  with  the  deep  tragedy  of  the  two 
short  stanzas  which  tell  us  of  the  fate  of  the  miller's 
apprentice  and  his  love.  She  lives  yonder  on  the 
hill  where  the  mill  wheel  is  turning;  and  when  he 
looks  up  to  it  from  the  valley,  then  his  senses  are 
bewildered,  and  it  seems  to  him  as  though  the 

1  Erk  und  Boehme,  loc.  cit.,  ii,  217. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  87 

ceaseless  turning  of  the  wheel  and  the  ceaseless 
flowing  of  the  water  were  his  own  unending  love: 

Dort  hoch  auf  jenem  berge 
Da  geht  ein  miilerad, 
Das  malet  nichts  denn  Hebe 
Die  nacht  bis  an  den  tag.1 

This  is  the  first  scene;  but  without  transition, 
sharp  and  cruel  as  life  itself,  and  yet  not  without 
that  strength  of  feeling  and  inner  poise  which  a 
healthy  man  preserves  even  hi  the  breakdown  of 
his  happiness,  there  follows  the  picture  of  the 
catastrophe: 

Die  miile  ist  zerbrochen, 

Die  liebe  hat  ein  end. 

So  gsegn  dich  got,  mein  feines  lieb! 

Jez  far  ich  ins  ellend. 

How  artless  and  enchanting,  how  dreamy  and 
yet  how  distinctly  drawn  is  the  scene  in  the  wheat- 
field  where  two  reaping  girls,  swinging  the  scythe 
in  even  measure,  give  way  to  such  contrasting  feel- 
ings. The  one  bewails  the  loss  of  her  sweetheart, 
the  other  rejoices  in  her  own  happiness  of  newly 
awakened  love.  And  grief  and  joy  appear  united 
and,  as  it  were,  borne  along  by  the  rhythmic  rust- 
ling of  the  scythes  under  which  the  blades  of  grain 
are  falling: 

1  Loc.  tit.,  ii,  234. 


88  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Ich  hort  ein  sichellin  rauschen, 
Wol  rauschen  durch  das  korn, 
Ich  hort  ein  feine  magt  klagen, 
Sie  het  ir  lieb  verlorn. 

"  La  rauschen,  lieb,  la  rauschen, 
Ich  acht  nit,  wie  es  ge: 
Ich  hab  mir  ein  bulen  erworben 
In  feiel  und  griinen  kle." 

"  Hast  du  ein  bulen  erworben 
In  feiel  und  griinen  kle: 
So  ste  ich  hie  alleine 
Tut  meinem  herzen  we."  l 

And  finally,  how  touchingly  simple,  how  devoid  of 
all  morbid  exaggeration  is  the  farewell  of  the  jour- 
neyman from  Innsbruck  where  he  leaves  his  love  at 
home.  He  knows,  foreign  lands  cannot  offer  him 
any  joy.  But  he  cheers  himself  by  the  thought  of 
her;  her  heart  will  be  his  home  wherever  he  goes; 
hers  he  will  be  forever;  and  he  asks  God  to  pre- 
serve her  until  his  return.  Of  the  tune  of  this  song 
Sebastian  Bach  is  reported  to  have  said :  he  would 
gladly  give  his  best  compositions  for  this  one 

melody. 

Innsbruck,  ich  muss  dich  lassen, 
Ich  fahr  dahin  mein  strassen 
In  fremde  land  dahin. 
Mein  freud  ist  mir  genommen, 
Die  ich  nit  weisz  bekommen, 
Wo  ich  in  elend  bin. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  ii,  472. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  89 

Grosz  leid  musz  ich  ertragen, 
Das  ich  allein  tu  klagen 
Dem  liebsten  buhlen  mein. 
Ach  lieb,  nun  lasz  mich  armen 
Im  herzen  dein  erwarmen, 
Dasz  ich  musz  dannen  sein. 

Mein  trost  ob  alien  weiben, 
Dein  tu  ich  ewig  bleiben, 
Stet,  treu,  der  ehren  frumm. 
Nun  musz  dich  gott  bewahren, 
In  aller  tugend  sparen, 
Bis  dasz  ich  wieder  kumm.1 

It  is  hard  to  think  of  poetry  more  delicate  and  more 
appealing,  more  universally  human  and  more 
specifically  personal  than  these  and  similar  love 
songs.  Carried  along  by  melodies  which  set  the 
innermost  chords  of  the  soul  in  vibration,  these 
songs  have  outlasted  all  the  vicissitudes  of  German 
history  of  the  last  five  hundred  years;  they  have 
outlived  the  distress  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War  and 
the  tunes  of  princely  tyranny  and  scholastic  pedan- 
try; they  have  comforted  the  common  people  and 
have  inspired  the  great  poets  and  composers  of  the 
eighteenth  century;  and  through  the  romanti- 
cism of  the  nineteenth  century  they  have  finally 
become  a  fountain  of  youth  for  German  lyric 
poetry  at  large. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  ii,  546. 


90  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

I  must  pass  over  historical  popular  lyrics,  al- 
though here  too  individuality  asserts  itself  not 
infrequently  with  characteristically  German  rug- 
gedness,  in  order  to  analyze  a  few  at  least  of  the 
most  representative  popular  ballads.  In  the  ballad 
the  folksong  of  the  fourteenth  to  the  sixteenth 
centuries  reached  its  climax;  and  here  again  it  is 
the  firm  grasp,  the  bold  stroke  —  to  use  a  word  of 
Goethe's,  —  the  absence  of  all  laborious  descrip- 
tion, the  limitation  to  a  few  striking  features,  the 
clever  use  of  dramatic  contrasts,  the  suggestiveness 
of  characterization,  the  irrepressible  onward  strid- 
ing from  peak  to  peak,  as  it  were,  of  the  narrative 
—  in  a  word,  it  is  the  intense  personal  concentra- 
tion and  power  which  more  than  anything  else 
determines  the  peculiar  character  of  this  poetry. 
Poems  of  supreme  beauty  and  truthfulness  have 
come  forth  from  this  intensity  and  concentration 
of  personal  feeling  hi  the  popular  ballad,  poems 
which  again  make  us  wonder  how  critics  ever  could 
have  spoken  disparagingly  of  the  end  of  the 
Middle  Ages  as  a  period  of  literary  decline. 

One  might  indeed  say:  one  such  ballad  as  the 
ballad  of  the  "  Two  Royal  Children  "  —  the  Ger- 
man version  of  the  Greek  legend  of  Hero  and 
Leander  —  outweighs  thousands  of  verses  from 
the  epic  cycles  of  chivalry.  Not  a  stanza  in  this 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  91 

ballad  which  does  not  enrich  and  deepen  the  action; 
none  which  does  not  add  a  new  touching  trait. 

Et  wassen  twe  kiinigeskinner, 
De  hadden  enander  so  lef , 
De  konnen  to  nanner  nich  kummen, 
Dat  water  was  vil  to  bred.1 

This  is  the  overture.  Now  two  short  stanzas  which 
relate  the  lighting  of  the  candles,  their  being  put 
out  by  the  "  evil  nun,"  and  the  drowning  of  the 
royal  youth.  And  from  here  on  the  whole  power  of 
poetic  beauty  is  concentrated  upon  the  grief  of  the 
bereaved  maiden. 

Et  was  up  en  sunndage  morgen, 
De  Hide  woren  alle  so  fro, 
Nich  so  des  kiiniges  dochter, 
De  augen  de  seten  er  to. 

"O  moder,"  sede  se,  "moder! 
Mine  augen  dod  mi  der  so  we; 
Mag  ick  der  nich  gon  spazeren 
An  de  kant  von  de  ruskende  se  ?  " 

The  mother,  apparently  foreboding  the  coming 
catastrophe,  is  not  willing  to  allow  her  daughter  to 
go  alone:  she  must  call  her  youngest  sister  to  go 
with  her.  But  the  daughter  insists,  that  her  sister 
is  too  childish,  she  would  pick  all  the  flowers  on  the 
seashore,  and  then  people  would  say,  she  herself  had 

1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  296. 


92  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

done  it.  No,  she  must  go  alone;  her  eyes  feel  so 
sore.  The  mother  answers:  "  Then  call  your 
youngest  brother  to  go  with  you."  But  again  the 
daughter  has  an  excuse :  her  brother  is  too  childish, 
he  would  shoot  all  the  birds  on  the  seashore,  and 
then  people  would  say,  she  herself  had  done  it.  No 
she  must  go  alone.  And  now  she  cannot  dissemble 
any  longer:  not  her  eyes  are  sore,  but  her  heart; 
not  a  walk  she  wants  to  take,  she  wants  to  pray  by 
the  surging  sea. 

"  O  moder,"  sede  se,  "  moder! 
Min  herte  dod  mi  der  so  we. 
Lot  annere  gon  tor  kerken, 
Ick  bed  an  de  ruskende  se." 

And  so  she  puts  on  her  golden  crown  and  her  dia- 
mond ring  and  goes  up  and  down  on  the  strand 
until  she  finds  a  fisherman.  She  hires  the  fisherman 
to  sink  his  net  in  the  sea:  "  fish  for  me  the  royal 
youth." 

He  sette  sin  netkes  to  water, 
De  lotkes  sunken  to  grund. 
He  fiskde  und  fiskde  so  lange, 
De  kiinigsson  wurde  sin  fund. 

Do  nam  de  kiiniges  dochter 
Von  hoefd  ere  goldene  kron: 
"  Siih  do,  woledele  fisker! 
Dat  is  ju  verdende  Ion!  " 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  93 

Se  trock  von  eren  finger 
Den  rink  von  demanten  so  schon: 
"  Suh  do,  woledele  fisker! 
Dat  is  ju  verdende  Ion." 

Se  nam  in  ere  blanke  arme 
Den  kiinigsson,  o  we! 
Se  sprank  mit  em  in  de  wellen: 
"  O  vader  un  moder,  ade!  " 

Still  more  dramatic  and  impassioned,  if  not  of 
the  same  unspeakably  touching  and  pathetic 
charm  as  this  ballad  of  the  "  Two  Royal  Child- 
ren," is  the  ballad  of  Tannhauser,  a  poem  contain- 
ing in  brief  compass  all  the  essential  elements  of 
Richard  Wagner's  stirring  composition.  Boldly 
and  effectively  this  ballad  transports  us  at  once 
into  the  sultry  atmosphere  of  the  Venus  mountain, 
into  the  conflict  between  the  knight,  who  longs  to 
free  himself  from  the  fetters  of  sensuality,  and  the 
enchantress  who  wishes  to  hold  him. 

"  Herr  Danhauser,  ir  seind  mir  lieb 
Daran  solt  ir  gedenken! 
Ir  habt  mir  einen  aid  geschworn 
Ir  wolt  von  mir  nit  wenken." 

"  Fraw  Venus!  Das  enhab  ich  nit, 
Ich  will  das  widersprechen, 
Und  redt  das  jemants  mer  denn  ir, 
Gott  helf  mirs  an  ihm  rechen! "l 

1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  39. 


94  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Thus  the  dialogue  swells  on:  upon  the  one  hand, 
ever  more  passionate  caressing,  ever  more  urgent 
wooing;  upon  the  other,  ever  more  violent  strug- 
gling to  get  loose,  ever  more  desperate  wrenching 
away,  up  to  the  last  wild  outcry  of  Tannhauser: 

"  Fraw  Venus,  edle  fraw  so  zart, 
Ir  seind  ain  teufelinne!  " 

and: 

"  Maria,  muter,  raine  maid, 
Nun  hilf  mir  von  den  weiben!  " 

The  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  which  presently  follows, 
is  brought  out  with  the  same  incisive  intensity. 
First  Tannhauser's  readiness  for  repentance  and 
his  trust  in  God's  mercy: 

"  Ach  bapst,  lieber  herre  mein! 
Ich  klag  euch  hie  mein  siinde, 
Die  ich  mein  tag  begangen  hab, 
Als  ich  euch  will  verkunden. 

Ich  bin  gewesen  auch  ain  jahr 

Bei  Venus,  ainer  frawen, 

Nun  wolt  ich  beicht  und  busz  empfahn 

Ob  ich  mocht  gott  anschauen." 

With  Tannhauser's  craving  for  penance  and  abso- 
lution there  is  contrasted  the  cold  and  harsh  self- 
righteousness  of  the  Pope  which  knows  nothing  of 
sympathy  with  the  repentant  shiner.  The  Vicar 
of  Christ  does  not  even  enter  upon  Tannhauser's 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  95 

confession,  his  only  word  is  damnation,  made 
doubly  impressive  by  the  reference  to  his  pontifical 
staff:  as  little  as  this  staff  will  sprout  into  leaf,  so 
little  will  Tannhauser  be  saved. 

Now  there  follow  with  flashlike  rapidity  Tann- 
hauser's  relapse  into  sensuality,  his  return  into  the 
Venus  mountain,  and  the  jubilant  words  with 
which  he  is  received  by  his  paramour: 

Da  zoch  er  widrumb  aus  der  statt 
In  jammer  und  in  laide: 
"  Maria,  muter,  raine  maid! 
Ich  muss  mich  von  dir  schaiden." 

Er  zoch  nun  widrumb  in  den  berg 
Und  ewiklich  on  ende: 
"  Ich  will  zu  meiner  frawen  zart, 
Wa  mich  gott  will  hinsenden." 

"  Seind  gottwillkomen,  Danhauser! 
Ich  hab  eur  lang  emboren; 
Seind  willkom,  mein  lieber  herr, 
Zu  ainem  bulen  auserkoren!  " 

And  finally,  the  harmonious  issue  of  the  whole,  a 
glorification  of  genuine  humanity  and  a  condemna- 
tion of  heartless  intolerance:  the  staff  of  the  Pope 
bursts  into  leaf  —  God  has  received  the  sinner  into 
His  grace. 

Truly,  we  understand  why  this  ballad,  embrac- 
ing, in  its  intenseness  of  personal  experience,  the 


96  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

heights  and  the  depths  of  life,  should  have  wrung 
from  the  most  intensely  subjective  of  modern 
German  poets  words  of  boundless  admiration. 
When  Heinrich  Heine  discovered  it  in  a  miscellan- 
eous volume  of  the  seventeenth  century,  he  felt, 
he  says,1  as  though  hi  a  dark  mountain  cleft  he  had 
suddenly  come  across  a  large  vein  of  gold.  "  The 
bold  and  simple,  primitively  grand  words  shone  at 
me  so  lustrously  that  my  heart  was  almost  blinded 
by  the  unexpected  brilliancy.  I  at  once  felt,  from 
this  poem  there  spoke  to  me  a  familiar  voice  of  joy. 
This  poem  is  like  a  battle  of  love,  and  the  reddest 
heart  blood  flows  therein." 

By  many  further  examples  it  might  be  shown 
how  sharply  the  popular  ballad  individualizes, 
how  fearlessly  it  likes  to  bring  out  contrasts,  what 
bold  situations  it  dares  to  portray,  with  what  sure 
hand  it  works  up  to  a  climax.  Only  two  poems, 
belonging  to  the  favorite  cycle  of  subjects  relating 
to  domestic  tragedies,  may  be  singled  out  to  illus- 
trate this  peculiarity  of  the  ballad  still  more  fully: 
the  poem  of  the  bad  mother  who  has  poisoned  her 
stepchild,  and  the  poem  of  the  faithful  sister  who 
rescues  her  brother  from  the  gallows. 

The  crime  of  the  stepmother  is  revealed  to  us  in 
seven  short  stanzas,  each  of  them  consisting  of  a 

1  Werke,  ed.  Karpeles,  v,  365. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  97 

brief  question  and  answer  directed  to  and  given  by 
the  boy.  He  comes  from  his  aunt's  house  where 
the  poison  has  been  given  to  him.  He  is  already 
in  the  agonies  of  death.  Every  answer  of  his  ends 
with  a  "  Wie  weh  ist  mir";  every  new  answer 
makes  us  more  clearly  see  how  the  crime  has  been 
perpetrated;  and  the  last  answer  with  its  blunt 
curse  unmasks  the  murderess  herself. 

Kind,  wo  bist  du  bin  gewesen  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir. 
"  Nach  meiner  mutter  sch wester, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 

Kind,  was  gaben  sie  dir  zu  essen  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir. 
"  Eine  briie  mit  pfeffer, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 

Kind,  was  gaben  sie  dir  zu  trinken  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir. 
"  Ein  glas  mit  rotem  weine, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 

Kind,  was  gaben  sie  den  hunden  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir. 
"  Eine  briie  mit  pfeffer, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 

Kind,  was  machten  denn  die  hunde  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir! 
"  Sie  sturben  zur  selben  stunde, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 


98  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Kind,  was  soil  dein  vater  haben  ? 
Kind,  sage  dus  mir! 
"  Einen  stul  in  dem  himmel, 
Wie  we  ist  mir!  " 

Kind,  was  soil  deine  mutter  haben  ? 

Kind,  sage  dus  mir! 

"  Einen  stul  in  der  hb'lle, 

Wie  we  ist  mir!  "» 

In  the  ballad  of  the  "Faithful  Sister"  also  there  is 
an  almost  breathless  suspense.  Here  also  the  single 
parts  of  the  action  follow  each  other  stroke  upon 
stroke.  Here  also  each  part  appears  like  a  flash 
from  the  dark,  and  disappears  equally  quickly. 
Here  also  everything  points  toward  one  grand 
climax.  The  father,  at  a  drinking  bout,  has 
gambled  away  his  only  little  son  to  a  company  of 
wild  fellows.  The  boy  is  to  be  hung  by  them.  The 
riders  come  to  get  him,  but  none  of  them  dares  to 
lead  him  out.  Then  the  unnatural  father  himself 
seizes  him  and  leads  him  out  of  the  yard.  And 
now  the  poem  continues : 

Wie  weit  schritt  ihm  die  mutter  nach  ? 
Sie  schritt  bis  hinter  die  pforte  nach. 

Wie  weit  schritt  ihm  die  schwester  nach  ? 
Sie  schritt  bis  hinter  das  galgengericht. 

"  Ach  herren,  edle  herren  mein, 
Gebt  mir  mein  einziges  briiderlein." 

1  Erk  und  Boehme  i,  581.    Cf.  Chad,  English  and  Scottish  Ballads 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  99 

"  Und  deinen  bruder  den  kriegst  du  nicht, 
Er  musz  jetzt  hangen  am  galgengericht; 

Und  wenn  du  dich  ziehst  nackend  aus 
Und  dreimal  um  den  galgen  laufst  "  — 

Und  wie  das  letzte  wort  geschah, 
Die  kleider  schon  alle  unten  war'n. 

Und  wie  sie's  erste  mal  'rum  kam, 
Da  fingen  alle  frauen  zu  weinen  an. 

Und  wie  sie's  zweite  mal  'rum  kam, 
Da  fingen  alle  herren  zu  weinen  an. 

Und  wie  sie's  letzte  mal  'rum  kam, 
Da  hieszen  sie  sie  stille  stahn: 

"  Schliesst  ab,  schliesst  ab  das  kettenband, 
Und  lasst  den  knaben  wieder  ins  land."1 

I  trust,  it  has  now  become  clear  that  what  so 
often  has  been  praised  —  and  justly  so  —  as  one 
of  the  most  characteristic  and  greatest  beauties  of 
popular  song,  its  extraordinary  objectivity,  is  in 
reality  the  result  of  an  extraordinarily  heightened 
subjectivity.  The  poet  of  the  popular  song  sees 
the  objects  that  surround  him  so  sharply,  because 
he  himself  is  a  sharply  individualized  personality. 
He  grasps  life  in  its  totality,  because  in  himself  life 
pulsates  fully.  He  has  an  eye  and  an  ear  for  the 
highest  and  the  lowest,  for  the  most  delicate  and 

1  Erk  und  Boehme,  loc.  cit.,  i,  566. 


100  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  grossest  of  the  outer  world,  because  the  con- 
trasts of  existence  clash  in  his  own  innermost  soul. 
It  is  not  a  mere  coincidence  that  many  of  the  most 
lustrous  figures  of  popular  song  belong  to  the  same 
time  which,  in  the  paintings  of  a  Jan  van  Eyck  or  a 
Rogier  van  der  Weyden,  has  left  us  portraits  of 
individuals  of  such  a  depth  of  expression,  such  a 
firmness  of  character,  such  a  complexity  of  will  and 
intellect  as  hardly  any  other  time  has  produced. 
Both  painting  and  folksong  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury prove  to  us  that  it  was  the  concentration  of 
the  inner  self  which  enabled  the  men  of  that  tune 
to  assimilate  the  world  and  to  reproduce  it  in  art. 

If  the  folksong  of  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages  is 
a  popular  successor  to  chivalric  Minnesong,  we 
may  see  a  popular  successor  to  the  chivalric  epic 
in  the  satirical  narrative  from  the  thirteenth  to  the 
sixteenth  centuries.  German  satirical  narrative 
of  those  tunes  has  produced  no  character  which 
reaches  the  level  of  the  great  characters  of  the 
chivalric  epic,  or  which  in  any  sense  is  worthy  to 
be  placed  by  the  side  of  that  immortal  parody  of  the 
chivalric  epic,  Cervantes'  "Don  Quixote."  Its  sub- 
jects offer  no  room  for  the  portrayal  of  the  highest 
and  deepest  that  moves  the  heart  of  man.  Its  aims 
are  confined  to  the  problems  of  a  particular  time 
and  have  no  universal  application.  Moreover,  the 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  IOI 

centrifugal  development  of  Germany  in  those 
centuries  brings  it  about  that  the  literary  repre- 
sentation of  reality  contained  in  the  satirical  nar- 
rative bears  essentially  a  local  and  provincial 
stamp  and  reveals  hardly  anything  of  that  hardy 
feeling  of  national  power  and  that  joyous  lustre  of 
national  greatness  which  make  Chaucer's  "  Canter- 
bury Tales  "  such  a  shining  monument  of  English 
life  of  the  late  Middle  Ages.  And  lastly,  in  artistic 
form,  this  satire  shows  retrogression  rather  than 
progress  from  the  thirteenth  century  to  the  six- 
teenth. The  Low  German  animal  epic  of  "  Reinke 
de  Vos  "  is  the  only  satire  of  the  fifteenth  century 
which,  as  a  work  of  art,  could  be  compared  with 
the  earlier  satires  of  the  thirteenth  century;  and 
"  Reinke  de  Vos  "  is  after  all  only  a  copy  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  Reinaert  by  a  Flemish  poet. 

All  this  must  be  admitted.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  German  satirical  narrative,  no  less  than  the 
folksong,  is  an  important  historical  evidence  of 
the  individualistic  trend  of  German  life  from  the 
thirteenth  century  on.  Its  wealth  of  caricature; 
its  richness  in  strongly,  if  grotesquely,  drawn  per- 
sonalities; its  unsparing  naturalism;  even  its 
revelling  in  the  trivial  and  the  vulgar  bring  out 
with  particular  emphasis  the  bourgeois  character 
of  this  period.  The  protest  of  the  masses  against 


102  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  corruption  of  the  nobility  and  clergy,  which  in 
the  Reformation  of  the  sixteenth  century  led  to  a 
reversal  of  the  whole  social  order,  is  heard  in  this 
narrative  literature  for  the  first  time  with  popular 
force.  And  it  is  not  amiss  to  compare  the  part 
played  by  this  literature  in  bringing  about  the 
social  reversal  of  the  sixteenth  century  with  the 
part  played  by  the  novel  of  the  eighteenth  century 
in  bringing  about  the  French  Revolution.  The 
reading  public  of  Fielding  and  Le  Sage  had  become 
weary  of  the  elegant  cavaliers  and  crowned  poten- 
tates, the  aristocratic  shepherds,  and  the  learned 
allegories  of  pseudo-classic  literature.  They 
wanted  to  see  men  and  women  of  their  own  flesh 
and  blood ;  they  wanted  to  have  a  representation  of 
actual  society  with  all  its  distortions  and  aberra- 
tions and  with  all  its  need  for  reform;  and  this 
widely-spread  desire  contributed  to  preparing  the 
ground  for  the  declaration  of  the  rights  of  man  and 
the  final  overthrow  of  absolutism.  Just  so  in  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  the  ideal  and 
heroic  figures  of  a  Siegfried,  a  Parzival,  a  Tristan 
and  similar  representatives  of  an  aristocratic  past 
had  lost  their  charm  for  the  masses,  or  survived 
only  in  the  coarser  form  of  the  chapbooks.  What 
people  wanted  to  see  in  literature  was  their  own 
life,  their  own  narrow  and  crowded  streets,  their 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  103 

own  gabled  houses  and  steepled  cathedrals,  their 
own  sturdy  and  homely  faces;  and  the  gratifica- 
tion of  this  popular  desire  by  the  writers  of  satirical 
narrative  helped  on  its  part  to  bring  on  the  great 
democratic  upheaval  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

I  must  confine  myself  here  to  a  brief  analysis  of 
two  of  the  earliest  of  these  satirical  narratives, 
both  belonging  to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  the  one  a  good-natured  ridicule  of  the  cre- 
dulity and  superstition  of  the  general  public,  the 
other  a  poignant  arraignment  of  the  viciousness  of 
a  degenerate  robber-knighthood:  the  collection  of 
humorous  tales  having  for  its  principal  character 
the  astute  clerical  swindler  Amis,  and  the  tragic 
story  of  young  Helmbrecht,  the  farmer's  son  who 
wanted  to  be  a  baron. 

The  account  of  the  tricks  performed  by  the  ec- 
clesiastical mountebank,  Amis,  is  entirely  devoid  of 
polemic  animosity.  At  the  end  the  jolly  rogue  even 
reforms;  he  donates  the  riches  accumulated  by  his 
swindles  to  a  convent,  is  himself  chosen  abbot,  and 
by  an  exemplary  administration  of  his  office  wins 
for  himself  a  title  to  eternal  life.  But  that  these 
amusing  tales  as  a  whole  are  nevertheless  a  striking 
satire  upon  the  church  and  upon  social  respecta- 
bility, is  evident.  There  is  hardly  a  class  of  people 
which  did  not  fall  a  prey  to  the  deceptions  of  the 


104  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

crafty  priest.  At  a  church  festival  he  represents 
himself  as  having  been  sent  out  by  St.  Brandan  to 
undertake  collections  for  a  cathedral,  with  the 
provision  to  accept  gifts  only  from  women  who 
have  not  sinned  against  their  marriage  vows.  Of 
course,  he  is  showered  with  money  and  valuables 
by  all  married  women,  especially  those  who  feel 
themselves  guilty  of  unfaithfulness  to  their  marital 
pledge.1  At  the  court  of  the  king  of  France  he  in- 
troduces himself  as  a  painter  and  announces  an 
exhibition  of  his  pictures.  These  pictures,  how- 
ever, he  declares,  can  be  seen  only  by  people  of 
legitimate  birth.  Of  course,  there  are  no  pictures 
at  all;  but  everybody  comes,  everybody  pretends 
to  see  the  pictures,  and  Amis  pockets  large  sums  of 
money  from  the  would-be  patrons  of  his  art.2  One 
of  the  most  amusing  episodes  is  the  trick  played  by 
him  upon  the  prior  of  a  rich  monastery.3  Amis 
presents  himself  to  the  prior  as  a  simple  peasant, 
ignorant  of  reading  or  writing,  and  in  his  humble 
way  caring  only  for  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  His 
appearance  of  integrity,  however,  induces  the  prior 
to  appoint  him  treasurer  of  the  monastery;  and 
Amis,  although  he  affects  great  distrust  in  his 
capacity  to  fill  this  office,  discharges  it  with  such 

1  Deutsche  Klassiker  des  Mittelalters,  xii,  31  ff. 

1  Loc.  cit.,  36  S.  *  Loc.  cit.,  63  ff. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  105 

dexterity  that  he  wins  the  favor  and  the  confidence 
of  the  whole  convent.  One  day  he  takes  the  prior 
apart  and  tells  him  under  the  seal  of  secrecy  that  a 
miracle  has  happened  to  him  —  an  angel  has  ap- 
peared before  him  and  summoned  him  to  conduct 
mass.  But  how  could  he,  an  ignorant,  illiterate 
layman,  who  has  never  even  looked  into  a  book, 
read  Latin  ?  And  yet  he  would  like  to  make  the 
trial,  that  is  if  the  prior  would  be  alone  with  him  in 
the  church  and  assist  him.  The  prior  enters  upon 
this  plan  joyfully.  They  lock  themselves  up  hi  the 
church.  Amis  is  put  into  priestly  garments,  he 
steps  before  the  altar,  and  lo  and  behold!  he  reads 
the  mass  from  beginning  to  end  most  fluently  and 
impressively.  The  prior  is  amazed  and  overjoyed : 
he  has  discovered  a  saint!  He  spreads  his  fame 
abroad;  from  all  parts  of  the  country  people  flock 
to  the  monastery,  bringing  large  offerings  of  silver 
and  gold  to  the  miraculous  man.  One  fine  morn- 
ing the  saintly  treasurer  is  gone,  and  the  silver  and 
gold  with  him. 

Far  more  bitter  and  cutting  than  in  these  merry 
tales  of  the  priest  Amis  is  the  satire  of  the  other 
book  which  I  mentioned  before,  the  "  Farmer  Helm- 
brecht "  by  the  Bavarian  friar  Wernher,1  a  book 
which  in  its  fierce  denunciation  of  cavalier  arro- 

1  Deutsche  Klassiker  des  Miltelalters,  xii,  131  ff. 


106  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

gance  and  viciousness  brings  before  us  something 
of  that  elemental  wrath  and  indignation  of  the 
oppressed  which  in  the  sixteenth  century  was  to 
lead  to  the  terrible  explosion  of  the  Peasants'  Re- 
volt. The  tragic  theme  of  the  conflict  between  the 
old  and  the  young,  between  the  honest  respecta- 
bility of  the  generation  of  the  fathers  and  the 
unbridled  license  of  the  generation  of  the  sons,  has 
hardly  ever  been  treated  more  pointedly  and  in- 
cisively than  in  this  little  masterpiece  which  indeed 
seems  an  anticipation  of  the  art  of  Heinrich  von 
Kleist,  Turgenjeff,  and  Gerhart  Hauptmann. 

How  vividly  does  young  Helmbrecht  stand  be- 
fore us  from  the  start  —  this  fashionable  braggart, 
this  dandified  farmer's  son  and  would-be  knight, 
with  his  blond  locks  f  ailing  over  his  shoulders,  with 
his  beautiful  silk  cap  embroidered  with  doves,  par- 
rots and  other  designs,  with  his  fine  linen,  with  his 
doublet  of  mail  and  his  sword,  with  his  blue  surcoat 
and  silver-buckled  belt,  with  the  bells  on  his  sleeves 
which  tinkle  in  the  ears  of  the  girls  when  he  dances 
with  them:  all  these,  gifts  from  his  mother  and 
sister  who  are  infatuated  with  the  haughty,  spoiled 
good-for-nothing.  And  in  contrast  with  him  the 
honest  old  father,  whose  whole  pride  consists  in 
tilling  his  land  with  his  own  hand  and  in  preserving 
inviolate  the  simple  traditions  of  his  class,  who  likes 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  1 07 

to  remember  the  time  when  as  a  boy  he  would  be 
sent  with  cheese  and  eggs  to  the  baronial  castle  and 
could  then  observe  the  courtly  bearing  and  the 
refined  manners  of  the  lords  and  ladies,  whereas 
now  the  castles  resound  only  with  wild  carousings 
and  savage  atrocities.  What  gives  true  greatness 
to  the  conflict  of  this  sturdy  representative  of 
ancient  custom  and  moral  discipline  with  youth- 
ful dissipation  and  depravity  is  the  inexorable 
consistency  with  which  the  fate  of  the  young  de- 
generate fulfills  itself,  and  the  unbending  right- 
eousness with  which  the  father,  though  broken 
hearted,  makes  himself  an  instrument  of  the  divine 
judgment  that  overtakes  his  son. 

It  is  in  five  stages  that  the  tragic  fate  of  the 
farmer's  family  —  for  through  the  son's  wicked- 
ness the  whole  family  is  plunged  into  ruin  —  is 
enacted  before  us. 

First  the  departure  of  the  young  headstrong 
from  the  old  homestead.  Movingly  the  father 
exhorts  him,  impressively  he  depicts  to  him  the 
blessing  and  the  joys  of  the  farmer's  life  and  the 
dangers  and  vices  of  robber-knighthood;  but  the 
son  has  only  words  of  scorn  for  the  miserable 
existence  of  a  clod-hopper,  and  the  paternal  warn- 
ings are  as  tiresome  to  him  as  a  lenten  sermon.1 

1  Verses  259  flf. 


108  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

"  Silence,  dear  father.  Never  shall  your  sacks 
graze  my  shoulders;  never  will  I  load  your  wag- 
gon with  dung;  that  would  ill  suit  my  beautiful 
coat  and  embroidered  cap.  I  must  taste  court  life. 
Shall  I  drag  on  three  years  with  a  foal  or  an  ox, 
when  I  may  every  day  have  my  booty  ?  I  will 
help  myself  to  strangers'  cattle  and  drag  the  peas- 
ants by  their  hair  through  the  hedges.  Hasten, 
father,  I  will  not  remain  with  you  any  longer."  So 
the  father  must  let  him  depart.  Thirty  bolts  of 
cloth,  four  good  cows,  two  oxen,  three  steers  and 
four  bushels  of  grain  he  sells  to  buy  a  steed  for  his 
son;  but  instead  of  a  blessing  he  gives  him  a  mes- 
sage of  woe  at  his  departure.2  "  Take  care  of  your 
cap  with  the  silken  birds,  and  guard  your  long 
locks.  I  dreamt  I  saw  you  groping  about  on  a 
staff,  with  your  eyes  out  and  with  a  wooden  leg; 
and  again  I  dreamt  I  saw  you  standing  on  a  tree, 
your  feet  full  a  fathom  and  a  half  from  the  grass. 
A  raven  and  a  crow  sat  on  a  branch  over  your  head, 
your  curly  hair  was  entangled;  on  the  right  hand 
the  raven  combed  it,  and  on  the  left  the  crow 
parted  it.  I  repent  me  that  I  have  reared  you." 

How  well-founded  the  father's  warnings  against 
court  life  are,  is  shown  by  the  second  series  of 
scenes:  the  temporary  return  of  Helmbrecht  to  his 

*  Verses  429  ff.;  516  ff.;  580  ff. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  109 

home  after  the  first  year  of  his  chivalric  adven- 
tures. At  the  first  meeting  with  his  family  he 
affects  the  courtly  fop.  The  sister  he  greets  in 
Latin,  the  father  in  French,  the  mother  in  Bo- 
hemian; and,  only  upon  the  earnest  entreaty  of 
the  father  to  speak  a  word  of  simple  German,  he  at 
last  condescends  to  acknowledge  himself  as  his 
son.  But  soon  he  reveals  the  whole  brutality  and 
viciousness  of  the  aristocratic  highwaymen  into 
whose  company  he  has  been  received.1  "  Father, 
it  is  now  more  than  a  week  that  I  have  drank  no 
wine;  since  then  I  have  taken  in  my  girdle  by  three 
holes.  I  must  capture  some  cattle  before  my 
buckle  will  return  to  its  former  place.  A  rich  far- 
mer has  done  me  a  great  injury.  I  saw  him  once 
riding  over  the  crops  of  my  godfather  the  knight; 
he  shall  pay  dear  for  it.  I  shall  trot  off  his  cattle, 
sheep,  and  swine,  because  he  has  trampled  over  the 
fields  of  my  dear  godfather.  I  know  another  rich 
farmer  who  has  also  grievously  injured  me;  he  ate 
bread  with  his  pastry;  by  my  life,  I  will  revenge 
that.  There  is  yet  another  simple  fool  who  was 
unseemly  enough  to  blow  the  froth  of  his  beer  into 
a  goblet.  If  I  do  not  revenge  that,  I  will  never 
gird  sword  to  my  side,  nor  be  worthy  of  courting  a 
lady."  The  father  asks  who  the  noble  companions 

1  Verses  1115  ff. 


110  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

are  who  have  taught  him  to  rob  a  farmer  of  his  all 
if  he  eats  pastry  and  bread  together;  and  the  son 
names  them :  Sir  Lambgobbler,  Sir  Ramswallower, 
Sir  Hellsack,  Sir  Shakepress,  Sir  Gobletjerker, 
Sir  Wolf's  Jaw,  Sir  Wolf's  Gut  and  so  on.  Of 
himself  he  says:1  "  I  am  called  Sir  Countrygob- 
bler.  I  am  not  the  delight  of  the  peasants.  What 
the  peasants  have  is  mine.  I  gouge  the  eyes  of 
one,  I  hack  the  back  of  another,  I  tie  this  one  down 
on  an  ant-hill,  and  another  I  hang  by  his  legs  to 
a  willow."  Now  at  last  the  father's  righteous  in- 
dignation breaks  forth:2  "Son,  however  noble 
those  may  be  whom  you  have  named  and  extolled, 
yet  I  hope,  if  there  is  a  just  God,  the  day  will  come 
when  the  hangman  may  seize  them,  and  throw 
them  off  from  his  ladder." 

While  the  clear  eye  of  the  father  thus  sees 
through  the  whole  nefariousness  of  this  aristo- 
cratic gang  of  robbers,  Gotelind,  the  foolish  sister, 
is  blinded  by  the  false  splendor  of  Helmbrecht's  ad- 
ventures. Her  vanity  is  flattered  when  one  of  his 
companions,  the  wild  Sir  Lambgobbler,  wooes  for 
her  hand.  Secretly  she  leaves  father  and  mother, 
and  elopes  with  her  paramour.  The  wedding  of 
the  fine  pair  and  the  coining  on  of  the  long  delayed 
punishment,  closely  connected  with  it,  form  the 
third  stage  and  the  climax  of  the  whole  story. 

1  Verses  1237  ff.  2  Verses  1257  ff. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  III 

"  Many  widows  and  orphans  "  —  so  runs  the 
account *  —  "  were  robbed  of  their  property  when 
Sir  Lambgobbler  and  his  bride  Gotelind  sat  at 
their  wedding  table.  From  far  away  there  were 
brought  in  wagons  and  on  horses  stolen  food  and 
drink  to  the  feast.  The  wedding  of  King  Arthur 
and  Ginevra  was  nothing  compared  with  the  revel- 
ling at  Sir  Lambgobbler's  castle.  It  was  wonderful 
how  the  food  disappeared  before  the  revellers,  as  if 
a  wind  blew  it  from  the  table;  they  ate  incessantly 
of  everything  that  was  brought  from  the  kitchen 
by  the  servants,  and  there  remained  nothing  but 
bare  bones  for  the  dogs.  Then  came  true  what 
a  wise  man  has  said:  '  When  anyone  eats  with 
excessive  greed,  it  is  a  sign  that  his  end  is  near.' 
Yes,  it  was  the  last  time  that  they  feasted  together. 
Gotelind  began  to  shudder  and  exclaimed:  '  Woe 
to  us!  Some  misfortune  approaches;  my  heart  is 
so  heavy!  Woe  is  me  that  I  have  abandoned  my 
father  and  mother;  whoever  desires  too  much, 
will  gain  little;  greediness  leads  to  the  abyss  of 
hell.'  "  —  Hardly  is  the  banquet  ended  when  the 
judge  and  the  executioners  appear.  The  knights 
are  overpowered.  Nine  of  them  are  hanged.  Helm- 
brecht  has  his  eyes  put  out  and  one  hand  and  one 
foot  cut  off.  Thus,  as  a  miserable  cripple,  he  takes 

1  Verses  14645.;  1557  ff. 


1 1 2  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

leave  from  his  sister  as  she  lies,  benumbed  with 
fright,  by  the  roadside. 

Finally,  the  last  two  gruesome  scenes:  the  re- 
jection of  Helmbrecht  from  his  father's  house  and 
his  ignominious  death. 

"  When l  the  blind  Helmbrecht,  limping  on  a 
staff  and  led  by  a  servant,  came  to  his  father's 
house,  hear  how  his  father  greeted  him:  '  Dieu 
salue,  monsieur  Blindman,  go  from  hence,  mon- 
sieur Blindman;  if  you  delay,  I  will  have  you 
driven  away  by  my  servant;  away  with  you  from 
the  door! '  *  Sir,  I  am  your  child.'  '  Is  the  boy 
become  blind  who  called  himself  Sir  Countrygob- 
bler  ?  Hey,  how  cocky  you  were  when  you  rode 
off  on  the  steed  for  which  I  gave  my  cattle.  Be- 
gone, and  never  return  again! '  Again  the  blind 
man  spoke:  '  If  you  will  not  recognize  me  as  your 
child,  at  least  allow  a  miserable  man  to  crawl  into 
your  house  and  lie  under  the  staircase,  as  you  allow 
the  poor  sick  to  do.  The  country  people  hate  me; 
I  cannot  save  myself  from  them.'  The  heart  of  the 
old  man  was  shaken,  for  the  blind  man  who  stood 
before  him  was  his  own  flesh  and  blood  —  his  son; 
yet  he  exclaimed  with  a  scornful  laugh:  *  You 
went  out  daringly  into  the  world;  you  have  caused 
many  a  heart  to  sigh,  and  robbed  many  a  peasant 

1  Verses  1707  ff. 


POPULAR  SONG  AND  SATIRE  113 

of  his  possessions.  Think  of  my  dream.  Servant, 
close  the  door  and  draw  the  bolt;  I  will  have  my 
night's  rest.'  So  the  blind  man  went  away,  and  the 
peasants  hooted  and  scoffed  at  him." 

"  Early l  one  morning  when  he  was  going  through 
a  forest,  some  peasants  who  were  gathering  wood 
saw  him,  and  one  of  them,  from  whom  he  had 
taken  a  cow,  called  to  the  others  for  help.  All  of 
them  had  been  injured  by  him.  One  of  them  cried : 
'  I'll  tear  him  into  pieces  as  small  as  the  motes  in 
the  sunbeams;  he  stripped  my  wife  and  myself 
naked.'  Another  said:  *  He  broke  into  my  cellar 
and  plundered  it.'  The  fourth,  trembling  like  a 
reed  with  passion,  shouted:  *  I  will  wring  his  neck; 
he  thrust  my  sleeping  child  into  a  sack,  and  when  it 
awoke  and  cried,  he  tossed  it  out  into  the  snow,  so 
that  it  died.'  The  fifth  roared:  '  He  has  ravished 
my  daughter.  If  he  were  thrice  as  blind  as  he  is,  I 
would  hang  him  all  the  same.'  Thus  they  all 
turned  against  Helmbrecht.  '  Now  take  care  of 
your  silken  cap ! '  The  embroidery  which  had  been 
left  untouched  before  was  now  torn,  and  scattered 
on  the  road  with  his  hair.  They  allowed  the  miser- 
able wretch  to  make  his  confession,  and  one  of  them 
broke  a  piece  of  dirt  from  the  ground  and  gave  it  to 
he  worthless  man  as  gate  money  for  hell  fire.  Then 

1  Verses  1823  ff. 


1 14  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

they  hanged  him  to  a  tree.   And  the  father's  dream 
had  been  fulfilled." 

Let  us  return  to  our  fundamental  theme,  the 
evolution  of  personality  in  German  literature  at 
the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Can  there  be  any 
doubt  that  both  folksong  and  popular  satire  of  the 
thirteenth,  fourteenth,  and  fifteenth  centuries  pre- 
sent a  particularly  striking  phase  of  this  evolution 
of  personality  ?  Both  folksong  and  popular  satire 
of  those  centuries  foreshadow  in  a  particularly 
striking  manner  the  great  social  upheaval  which 
was  to  come  in  the  sixteenth  century;  more  clearly 
than  any  other  form  of  literature  do  they  reflect 
the  democratization  of  feeling,  the  rising  tide  of 
citizen  independence,  the  imbuing  of  the  masses 
with  the  instinct  for  self-assertion  which  made 
Luther's  work  possible.  When  Luther  appeared, 
the  state  of  the  popular  mind  had  come  to  be  a 
surging  mass  of  conflicting  emotions  —  of  class 
hatred  and  party  passion,  of  vulgar  cynicism  and 
frivolous  skepticism,  of  bold  enjoyment  of  the 
flesh  and  blind  groping  for  the  spirit,  of  sturdy 
trust  in  human  rights  and  fanatic  craving  for  the 
destruction  of  order.  It  was  Luther's  mission  to 
give  to  this  mass  of  conflicting  popular  emotions  a 
common  moral  aim:  the  striving  for  individual 
salvation. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  OF  THE  FIFTEENTH 

CENTURY  AND  DURER'S  BIBLICAL 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

IN  German  mysticism,  in  German  folksong,  and 
in  German  popular  satire  of  the  end  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  we  observed  a  constantly  increasing  de- 
mocratization of  feeling,  a  constant  deepening  and 
heightening  of  personality,  a  constantly  growing 
detachment  of  the  individual  from  the  tradition  of 
society.  A  similar  development  may  be  traced  in 
the  medieval  German  drama,  more  specifically  in 
the  process  of  a  constantly  growing  secularization 
which  led  the  religious  drama  from  the  austere 
liturgical  compositions  of  the  tenth  century  to  the 
motley  popular  shows  of  the  fifteenth. 

In  the  Latin  Easter  Plays  from  the  tenth  to  the 
thirteenth  century,  only  slight  beginnings  of  dra- 
matic action  and  mimic  art  can  be  seen.  These 
plays  are  no  plays;  they  are  musical  compositions, 
which  at  first  formed  a  part  of  the  early  Mass  of 
Easter  Sunday.  In  the  manner  of  the  oratorio, 
with  a  slender  admixture  of  suggested  rather  than 
performed  action,  in  antiphonal  chants  between 

"5 


Il6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

two  choruses,  later  also  between  choruses  and 
solo  voices,  they  gave  to  the  congregation  assem- 
bled hi  church  on  Easter  morning  an  emotional 
picture  of  the  events  at  the  grave,  the  scene  be- 
tween the  three  Marys  and  the  angel,  and  the 
spreading  of  the  news  of  the  resurrection  among  the 
disciples.  They  usually  ended  with  a  Te  Deum 
sung  by  the  choir,  to  which  occasionally  there  was 
added  a  hymn  of  praise  sung  by  the  whole  congre- 
gation. Solemn  and  liturgical  as  this  whole  per- 
formance was,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  contained 
possibilities  of  dramatic  development  and  that  it 
step  by  step  widened  its  circle  of  action.  The  dis- 
play before  the  disciples  of  Christ's  sudary  and 
shroud,  the  meeting  between  Mary  Magdalen  and 
the  risen  Christ,  the  hastening  of  Peter  and  John 
to  the  grave,  the  appearance,  at  the  end,  of  the 
transfigured  Christ  with  the  banner  of  the  Cross, 
as  victor  over  death  and  hell  —  these  were  scenes 
which  hardly  fitted  within  the  narrow  frame  of  an 
interlude  of  the  Mass.  And  to  such  scenes  as  these 
there  were  added  in  course  of  time  others  which 
went  still  further  beyond  the  liturgic  origins  of 
these  plays:  the  scene  of  the  three  Marys  buying 
ointment  or  the  scene  where  Pilate  despatches  his 
soldiers  to  watch  the  grave.  We  are  safe  hi  assum- 
ing that  not  later  than  the  thirteenth  century,  this 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  117 

whole  development  had  led  in  Germany  to  that 
stage  in  the  growth  of  the  religious  drama  which 
for  France  is  vouched  for  by  the  Mystery  Play  of 
Tours  as  early  as  the  twelfth  century:  the  detach- 
ment of  the  Latin  Easter  Play  from  the  regular 
church  service. 

A  similar  course  of  development  is  seen  in  the 
Latin  Christmas  Plays.  To  what  a  variety  and 
vividness  of  action  the  Christmas  Play  of  the 
twelfth  century  had  progressed  from  its  original 
liturgic  limitations,  is  strikingly  shown  in  the  Bene- 
diktbeuren  Christmas  Play.  The  fact  that  the  text 
of  this  play  is  contained  in  a  manuscript  which 
also  contains  the  largest  collection  of  twelfth  cen- 
tury Latin  lyrics,  the  poetry  of  wine,  women  and 
song  by  the  very  unclerical  order  of  the  clerici 
vagantes,  vagrant  theological  students  who  were 
the  despair  of  the  university  authorities  of  that 
day,  is  an  additional  proof  for  the  assumption  sup- 
ported by  other  reasons  also,  that  these  vagrant 
clerks  exercised  an  important  influence  upon  the 
secularization  and  popularization  of  the  religious 
drama.  The  stage  directions  of  this  Benedikt- 
beuren  Christmas  Play  expressly  state  that  it  is  to 
be  performed  not  inside,  but  hi  front  of  a  church; 1 
and  although  the  play  itself  is  from  beginning  to 

1  Froning,  Das  Drama  des  Mittelalters,  iii,  877. 


Il8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

end  in  Latin,  it  often  enough  appeals  to  the  pre- 
dilection for  strong  effects  and  telling  actuality 
which  distinguishes  the  poetry  of  the  vagrant 
clerks.  In  the  disputation  between  the  prophets 
and  the  leader  of  the  synagogue,  with  which  the 
play  begins,  there  is  no  lack  of  realistic  traits.  The 
Sibyl,  according  to  the  stage  directions,  is  to  pro- 
nounce her  prophecy  of  the  coming  of  Christ 
"  cum  gestu  mobili,"  1  with  vivid  gestures;  and 
the  leader  of  the  Synagogue  is  to  betray  great 
excitement  and  violent  indignation  at  these  and 
similar  prophecies.  He  is  to  punch  his  fellows  with 
his  elbow,  he  is  to  toss  his  head  and  his  whole  body 
to  and  fro,  stamp  on  the  ground  and  wield  his  stick 
altogether  in  the  manner  of  a  Jew.2  The  striving 
for  grotesque  imitation  of  reality  which  marks  this 
introductory  scene  appears  again  and  again 
throughout  the  play  proper,  the  action  of  which 
leads  from  the  Annunciation  and  the  Nativity  to 
the  Slaughter  of  the  Innocents  and  the  Death  of 
Herod.  Most  strikingly  perhaps  is  this  the  case  in 
the  scene  of  the  Shepherds  in  the  Field3  who  are 
accosted  on  the  one  hand  by  an  angel  announcing 
the  birth  of  the  Saviour,  on  the  other  by  the  devil 
denouncing  the  angelic  message  as  a  preposterous 

1  Loc.  cit.,  878.  »  Loc.  cit.,  892  ff. 

2  Loc.  cit.,  880. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  119 

invention.  Three  times  the  shepherds  set  out  to 
perform  their  worship  before  the  Child  in  the 
manger,  three  times  they  are  sent  back  by  the 
devil.  Finally  they  are  entirely  non-plussed  by  the 
discrepancy  of  the  arguments  hurled  at  them  from 
either  side;  they  put  their  heads  together  and  con- 
fess to  each  other  that  they  don't  know  where  to 
turn.  Then,  fortunately,  there  appears  a  multitude 
of  the  heavenly  host  singing  the  "  Gloria  in  excelsis 
deo  et  in  terra  pax  hominibus  bonae  voluntatis." 
This,  of  course,  convinces  the  shepherds;  they  cast 
then*  doubts  to  the  wind;  they  proceed  to  the  man- 
ger, and  now  there  follows  the  Adoration  scene  in 
strict  accordance  with  the  biblical  narrative. 

These  few  observations  may  suffice  to  remind  us 
of  the  fact  that  the  ecclesiastical  development 
within  itself  had  led  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth 
centuries  to  a  religious  drama  which,  although,  in 
the  main,  confined  to  the  Latin  language  and  to  a 
spirit  of  austere  churchliness,  at  the  same  time  con- 
tained numerous  germs  of  a  freer,  more  secular  and 
more  individual  conception  of  life.  But  only  from 
the  fourteenth  century  on,  together  with  the 
powerful  growth  of  the  great  German  city  repub- 
lics, and  clearly  influenced  by  the  spirit  of  civic 
independence  emanating  from  them,  there  de- 
velops a  German  vernacular  drama  which  offers 


120  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

room  for  a  broad  representation  of  reality  and  for 
a  large  variety  of  personal  types. 

It  must  frankly  be  admitted  that  just  as  the 
folksong  and  the  popular  satire  of  the  end  of  the 
Middle  Ages  as  compared  with  the  courtly  lyrics 
and  epics  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries 
frequently  betray  a  coarsening  of  motives,  so  the 
popular  drama  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  cen- 
turies, also,  is  decidedly  less  refined  than  the  older 
prevailingly  liturgic  drama.  Indeed,  many  of 
these  plays  are  overcrowded  with  trivial  vulgarity. 
Especially  where,  as  hi  the  Shrovetide  Plays,  the 
ecclesiastical  element  is  either  totally  absent  or 
present  only  as  an  object  of  ridicule,  there  is  often 
a  display  of  ordinariness,  uncouthness,  nay  filthi- 
ness  which  deprives  this  farcical  tavern  drama  of 
any  association  with  poetry  and  makes  it  worthy 
of  notice  only  as  a  vulgar  by-product  of  the  teem- 
ing vitality  of  an  epoch  inclined  to  go  to  extremes 
both  in  spiritual  aspirations  and  in  the  things  of 
the  flesh. 

This  also  must  be  admitted  that  the  influx  of 
secular  matter  into  the  religious  drama  has  not  led 
to  the  creation  of  an  artistic  form  hi  which  the 
spiritual  and  the  material  appear  reconciled.  Only 
in  a  few  plays  belonging  to  the  outer  periphery  of 
the  ecclesiastical  legend,  such  as  the  Low  German 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  121 

"Theophilus"  (fourteenth  century)  or  the  play  of 
"  Frau  Jutta  "  (1480),  are  we  confronted  with  a  con- 
sistent central  action  which  upon  the  background 
of  churchly  life  presents  human  passions  and  con- 
flicts.   And  just  in  these  plays  there  is  too  great  a 
lack  of  wide  perspective  for  them  to  arouse  deepest 
human  interest.     Both  the  fate  of  Frau  Jutta 
whose  vain  enterprise,  after  having  lifted  her  to  the 
throne  of  St.  Peter,  plunges  her  into  sudden  down- 
fall, and  the  career  of  the  priest  Theophilus  whom 
ecclesiastical  ambition  seduces  into  a  compact 
with  the  devil,  after  all  serve  only  to  glorify  the 
intercession  of  the  Virgin  Mary  for  the  repentant 
sinner.    Both  plays  lack  the  compelling  force  of 
soul  experience.    The  great  mass,  however,  of  the 
religious  plays,  especially  those  which  have  for 
their  subject  the  kernel  of  the  Christian  legend  — 
the  birth,  the  earthly  career,  the  passion,  and 
resurrection  of  the  Saviour  —  consist  of  an  almost 
endless  agglomeration  of  glaring  contrasts  between 
the  church  and  the  world,  between  the  serious 
and  the  burlesque,  between  deepest  feelings  of  the 
innermost  heart  and  commonplace  externalities; 
all  this  at  the  expense  of  artistic  unity  and  a  closely 
knit  composition. 

Some  of  these  contrasts,  however,  are  indeed 
presented  in  such  a  manner  that  we  are  made  to 


122  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

feel  thereby  the  tragic  complexity  of  existence,  the 
inevitable  interweaving  of  the  high  and  the  low, 
of  blessing  and  curse,  which  makes  the  web  of 
human  life.    Truly  impressive  is  the  contrast  in  the 
"Play  of  the  Wise  and  Foolish  Virgins"  between 
the  tender,  merciful  f eelings  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and 
the  austere  inaccessibility  of  the  divine  Judge  him- 
self.   His  mother  pleads  for  the  Foolish  Virgins  on 
her  knees; 1  she  reminds  him  of  all  the  toil  which 
for  more  than  three  and  thirty  years  she  has  under- 
gone for  him,  of  all  the  suffering  which  his  death 
has  brought  her;  and  as  a  reward  for  all  this  she 
demands  from  him  the  pardoning  of  the  repentant 
sinners.     But  Christ  remains  unmoved;    with  a 
commanding  gesture  he  imposes  silence  upon  his 
mother;    his  only  answer  to  her  ever  repeated 
entreaties  is  a  solemn:  "  Too  late,  too  late  ";  and 
with   majestic   loftiness   he    commits    the   poor 
wretches  to  eternal  damnation.    No  wonder  that 
when  in   1322   this  play  was  produced  at  Ei- 
senach, one  of  the  spectators,  the  Landgrave  of 
Thuringia,  was  affected  so  deeply  that  he  is  said 
to  have  collapsed  with  the  words:   "  What  is  our 
Christian  faith  then  for,  if  God  is  not  willing  to 
be  merciful,  even  at  the  intercession  of  his  own 
Mother  ?  " 

1  Das  Spiel  von  den  zehn  Jungfrauen,  ed.  Otto  Beckers,  verses  279  ff. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  123 

Truly  touching  is  the  contrast  in  the  Hessian 
Christmas  Play  of  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century 
between  the  glory  of  the  inner  life  and  the  out- 
ward wretchedness  of  a  proletarian  existence.1 
Mary  and  Joseph  are  homeless.  They  wander 
from  town  to  town  to  find  a  shelter  for  the  ap- 
proaching confinement  of  the  Mother  of  God.  At 
every  house  where  they  stop  they  are  turned  away 
from  the  door  with  harsh  words;  and  even  in  the 
vagrants'  home  where  they  at  last  are  taken  in,  old 
Joseph  must  submit  to  the  most  humiliating  insults 
heaped  upon  him  by  two  servant  girls.  When  the 
child  is  born,  the  most  necessary  provisions  are 
lacking.  No  food,  no  bedding  for  the  mother,  not 
even  swaddling  clothes  for  the  infant.  But  Mary 
comforts  herself:  naked  are  we  born,  naked  are  we 
to  go  hence.  And  good  Joseph  makes  a  most  de- 
voted father.  He  succeeds  in  hunting  up  a  cradle 
for  the  baby,  he  gets  a  pair  of  old  trousers  which 
will  do  very  well  for  swaddling  clothes;  and  then, 
how  happy  he  settles  down  at  the  cradle,  rocking 
the  little  one  and  singing  it  to  sleep  with  a  German 
lullaby. 

And  even  the  Merchant  scene  of  the  Easter 
Plays,  although  it  often  goes  to  the  very  limit  of  the 
endurable  in  coarseness  and  triviality,  at  times 

1  Froning,  iii,  902  ff. 


124  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

gives  us  a  sense  of  the  fundamental  paradox  of  life 
which  so  frequently  makes  moments  of  supreme 
solemnity  and  portentousness  clash  with  incidents 
of  utter  clownishness  and  frivolity.  In  the  Vienna 
Play,1  the  scene  begins  like  a  country  fair  scene  by 
Teniers  or  some  other  Dutch  genre  painter.  The 
merchant,  a  quack  and  mountebank  of  the  first 
order,  professes  just  to  have  come  from  Paris  and 
to  have  bought  there  a  great  supply  of  salves, 
tonics,  and  domestic  wares,  the  usefulness  of  which 
he  is  not  slow  to  impress  upon  the  crowd  gathered 
about  his  booth.  In  the  crowd  he  notices  a  fellow 
whose  face  appeals  to  him  as  betokening  a  kindred 
soul:  Rubin,  the  Jew,  pickpocket,  gambler,  and 
counterfeiter.  Everywhere  this  Rubin  has  man- 
aged to  defy  or  escape  the  courts;  only  in  Bavaria 
they  once  caught  him  and  branded  his  cheeks. 
Rubin  is  engaged  by  the  merchant  as  a  fellow  sales- 
man, and  the  two  together  proceed  to  harangue 
the  multitude.  Suddenly  there  arises  from  the 
midst  of  the  concourse,  like  a  voice  from  another 
world,  a  wailing  song  —  the  lamentation  of  the 
three  Marys  over  the  death  of  Jesus,  followed  by 
their  mutual  exhortation  to  go  to  his  grave  and  to 
anoint  his  body  with  ointment.  The  quack  sees 
his  chance  for  a  good  bargain;  he  sends  Rubin  to 

1  Hoffmann,  Fundgruben,  ii,  313  ff. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  125 

coax  the  women  to  his  booth.  The  three  Marys 
apparently  do  not  know  the  value  of  money;  they 
offer  to  pay  all  they  have,  three  gold  florins;  and 
the  merchant  is  so  overcome  by  this  unexpected 
readiness  of  his  customers  that  he  in  turn  gives 
them  better  stuff  than  he  is  accustomed  to  give. 
But  here  his  wife,  who,  it  seems,  has  a  better  busi- 
ness head,  intervenes.  She  has  made  the  ointment 
herself,  she  says;  she  ought  to  know  better  how 
much  it  is  worth;  she  bids  the  women  not  to 
touch  it.  And  when  her  husband  insists  on  keeping 
his  agreement,  she  abuses  him  as  a  drunkard  and 
spendthrift  —  an  attack  which  he  answers  by  beat- 
ing and  kicking  her.  In  short,  the  vulgarity  and 
ugliness  of  everyday  reality  smother  the  finer 
feelings  of  the  heart  which  the  lamentation  of  the 
three  Marys  had  kindled.  But  these  feelings  are 
rekindled  by  the  following  scene  at  the  grave,  the 
joyful  message  by  the  angel  of  Christ's  resurrection 
and  the  expression  by  the  three  Marys  of  hope  and 
trust  in  the  living  Saviour: 

Jesu,  du  bist  der  milde  trost, 
Der  uns  von  sunden  hat  erlost, 
Von  sunden  und  von  sorgen, 
Den  abent  und  den  morgen. 
Er  hat  den  teufel  angesiget, 
Der  noch  vil  feste  gebunden  liget. 
Er  hat  vil  manche  sele  erlost: 
O  Jesu,  du  bist  der  werlde  trost. 


126  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

If  scenes  of  contrast,  like  those  mentioned,  serve 
to  give  to  the  religious  plays  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury a  remarkable  variety  and  lifelikeness,  the 
absence  of  unity  in  them,  of  which  I  spoke  before, 
is  not  always  equally  pronounced.  Indeed,  over- 
crowded as  many  of  these  plays  are  with  multi- 
farious matter,  awkward  as  is  their  language,  drag- 
ging as  is  their  action,  lacking  as  they  are  in  artistic 
unity,  they  are  not  without  spiritual  unity.  The 
best  of  these  plays  give  us  perhaps  the  most  com- 
prehensive picture  of  a  tune  in  which  the  sacred 
legend  had  passed  over  into  the  life  of  the  whole 
people  and  had  become  the  personal  property  of 
every  individual.  They  make  us  realize  the  state 
of  mind  of  a  multitude  for  whom  the  passion  and  the 
resurrection  of  the  Saviour  was  an  ever  recurrent 
and  ever  present  fact,  closely  allied  with  their  own 
local  surroundings  and  local  happenings;  a  multi- 
tude, who  in  the  stations  of  Christ's  passion  carved 
in  stone  and  bordering  the  road  between  the  city 
wall  and  some  churchyard,  had  constantly  before 
their  eyes  the  road  to  Golgotha;  a  multitude  to 
whom  it  would  not  have  seemed  incredible,  if  the 
baptismal  font  in  the  minster  during  divine  service 
suddenly  were  to  change  into  the  Jordan  and  re- 
ceive the  sacred  forms  of  John  the  Baptist  and  the 
Saviour  bowing  down  before  him,  while  from  above 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  127 

there  would  be  heard  the  word:  "  This  is  my  be- 
loved son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased."  The  spec- 
tators themselves  gave  unity  to  these  plays, 
through  their  personally  re-experiencing  an  action 
with  every  detail  of  which  they  were  thoroughly 
familiar  and  every  part  of  which  was  to  their  mind 
ultimately  connected  with  the  whole. 

Two  of  these  plays  —  an  Easter  Play  written  in 
1464  by  a  priest  at  Redentin  near  the  Hanse  town 
of  Wismar  on  the  Baltic  Sea,  and  a  Passion  Play 
performed  hi  1501  in  the  Hessian  town  of  Alsfeld, 
not  far  from  Frankfurt  —  it  may  be  worth  while  to 
sketch  at  least  in  outline. 

Hardly  anywhere  has  the  localizing  and  mod- 
ernizing of  sacred  history  been  carried  to  such  an 
extreme  and  has  there  at  the  same  tune  been  main- 
tained such  a  high  level  of  artistic  form  as  in  the 
Redentin  Easter  Play.  The  play  begins  with  the 
resurrection  of  Christ,  but  the  resurrection  takes 
place,  not  in  Jerusalem,  but  hi  the  good  old  town 
of  Wismar  itself.  Pilate,  who  appears  as  the  type 
of  a  stately,  somewhat  phlegmatic  burgomaster, 
hears  a  rumor  that  Christ's  followers  intend  to  steal 
his  body;  and  he  therefore  details  four  knights  to 
watch  the  grave,  one  to  the  north,  one  to  the  south, 
one  to  the  east,  and  one  to  the  west.  The  knights 
behave  in  a  very  martial  manner,  and  their  whole 


128  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

conduct  is  clearly  a  caricature  of  the  depraved 
robber  barons  and  predatory  mercenaries  who  in 
those  tunes  of  club  law  were  an  object  of  both 
terror  and  ridicule  to  the  peaceful  citizen.  They 
brag  about  their  prowess,  clatter  with  their  swords, 
threaten  to  smash  any  one  who  shall  dare  to  come 
near  them;  and  then  go  quietly  to  sleep,  having 
first  made  an  arrangement  with  the  city  night 
watchman,  who  is  stationed  on  the  steeple  of  the 
cathedral,  to  keep  on  the  lookout  in  their  place. 
The  watchman  sees  a  vessel  approaching  on  the 
Baltic  Sea.  He  tries  to  wake  the  knights,  but  in 
vain.  He  hears  the  dogs  barking,  and  again  vainly 
tries  to  arouse  the  sleepers.  He  calls  out  the  mid- 
night hour.  And  now  a  chorus  of  angels  is  heard 
on  high,  the  earth  is  shaken,  Jesus  rises  from  the 
grave  and  proclaims  the  redemption  of  mankind: 

Nu  synt  alle  dynk  vullenbracht, 
De  da  vor  in  de  ewicheit  weren  bedacht, 
Dat  ik  des  bitteren  dodes  scholde  sterven 
Unde  dene  mynschen  gnade  wedder  vorwerven.1 

From  these  scenes,  hi  which  the  burlesque  and  the 
serious  are  so  quaintly  mingled,  we  now  pass  on  to 
events  of  truly  sublime  simplicity  and  serene 
grandeur.  Jesus  descends  into  hell,  to  rescue  the 
souls  of  the  forefathers.  His  approach  is  fore- 

1  Froning,  i,  133. 


THE  HARROWING  OF  HELL 
From  Durer's  Little  Passion 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  129 

shadowed  in  the  joyous  expectancy  of  the  waiting 
souls.  They  see  a  wondrous  light  spreading  over- 
head. Abel  is  the  first  to  interpret  this  as  a  sign 
that  the  tune  of  their  redemption  is  nigh;  but  the 
others  at  once  join  with  him.  Adam  rejoices  hi  the 
hope  of  regaining  paradise.  Isaiah  is  sure  that  this 
is  the  light  of  God;  for  is  it  not  an  evident  fulfil- 
ment of  what  is  written  in  his  own  book  of  pro- 
phecy (he  quotes  himself  in  Latin) :  "  The  people 
that  walked  in  darkness  have  seen  a  great  light  "  ? 
And  Seth  recalls  the  twig  which  five  thousand  and 
six  hundred  years  ago  he  planted  at  God's  behest 
that  it  might  grow  into  the  tree  of  salvation,  the 
cross.  Now,  John  the  Baptist  appears  as  fore- 
runner of  the  Saviour,  and  announces  his  coming. 
In  vain  do  Lucifer  and  Satan  summon  their  hosts, 
in  vain  do  they  lock  the  gates  of  hell.  Surrounded 
by  the  archangels,  Christ  advances.  With  a  few 
majestic  words  he  silences  Satan,  the  "  accursed 
serpent  ";  with  a  mere  sign  of  his  hand  he  bursts 
the  gates;  Lucifer  he  commands  to  be  bound  until 
the  day  of  Judgment.  And  now  the  souls  stream 
forward,  exulting,  jubilating,  stammering  with  joy 
and  gratitude;  and  Christ  takes  them  by  the  hand 
and  greets  them,  and  then  commits  them  to  the 
care  of  Michael,  the  archangel,  that  he  may  lead 
them  upward  into  paradise. 


130  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

At  the  end  of  the  play  we  return  once  more  to  the 
sphere  of  the  burlesque,  to  a  satire  upon  social  con- 
ditions of  the  fifteenth  century.     Through  the 
rescue  of  the  souls  of  the  Fathers,  hell  has  become 
desolate;  Lucifer  therefore,  chained  as  he  is,  sends 
his  servants  out  to  catch  new  souls.   But  the  devils 
return  empty-handed  and  discouraged:    through 
Christ's  death  and  resurrection,  they  say,   the 
world  has  become  so  good  that  very  little  chance  is 
left  for  hell.    Lucifer,  however,  is  not  discouraged. 
He  has  heard  that  a  great  plague  is  raging  just  now 
in  the  city  of  Liibeck,  the  rival  town  of  Wismar, 
and  he  sends  his  messengers  out  for  a  second  time, 
to  try  their  fortunes  in  the  Hanse  town.    And  this 
tune  they  come  back  laden  with  souls  of  sinners, 
sinners  of  every  kind  and  description.   There  is  the 
baker,  who  deceived  his  customers  by  using  too 
much  yeast  in  his  bread  and  too  little  flour.  There 
is  the  shoemaker,  who  sold  sheepskin  for  Cordovan 
leather.    There  is  the  tailor,  who  stole  half  of  his 
customers'  cloth.    There  is  the  inn-keeper,  who 
adulterated  his  beer  and  served  it  with  too  much 
foam  in  the  pot.    There  is  the  grocer,  who  used 
false  measure  and  weight.   There  is  even  the  priest, 
who  so  often  overslept  the  mass  and  so  often  cele- 
brated the  vesper  service  in  the  tavern.    In  short, 
—  this  is  the  moral  with  which  the  play  at  the  end 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  131 

returns  to  the  Easter  theme  —  Lucifer  is  right: 
the  power  of  evil  has  not  yet  been  broken;  sin  is 
still  mighty  in  the  land;  only  by  cleaving  to  God 
and  his  word  can  we  be  saved.  Only  then  can  we 
truly  sing  with  the  angels:  "  Christ  is  risen." 

In  unity  and  perspicuity  of  composition  the 
Alsfeld  Passion  Play,  extending  as  it  does  over  three 
play  days  and  containing  as  it  does  more  than  eight 
thousand  lines,  cannot  be  compared  with  this  truly 
classic  Redentin  Easter  Play.  The  Alsfeld  play 
often  drags  and  is  often  full  of  platitudes  and  of 
insufferable  loquacity.  But  the  cardinal  motive  of 
the  whole,  the  conflict  between  the  powers  of 
darkness  and  light,  is  well  conceived  and  shines 
forth  from  the  unending  succession  of  events  again 
and  again  with  genuine  power. 

The  distribution  of  the  unwieldly  material  of  the 
Alsfeld  play  upon  the  three  days  of  the  perform- 
ance is  not  without  dramatic  skill.  The  first  day 
begins  effectively  with  a  council  of  devils,  in  which 
Lucifer  and  his  prime  minister  Satan  introduce 
their  plan  of  bringing  about  the  death  of  Christ  — 
apparently  without  realizing  that  through  the 
execution  of  this  plan  they  are  bound,  against  their 
will,  to  further  the  cause  of  salvation.  As  a  pre- 
lude to  Christ's  passion  and  death,  there  follows  the 
John  the  Baptist  episode:  his  incarceration,  the 


132  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

feast  of  Herod,  the  dance  of  Herodias'  daughter, 
the  death  of  John,  the  punishment  of  Herodias  and 
her  daughter.  The  rest,  that  is  the  larger  half,  of 
the  first  day  is  devoted  to  Christ's  public  career, 
from  the  calling  of  the  disciples  to  the  Last  Supper, 
with  the  emphasis  laid  upon  the  miracles  per- 
formed by  Christ,  among  which  the  raising  of 
Lazarus  and  the  transformation  of  Mary  Magdalen 
from  a  vain  daughter  of  the  world  into  a  pious 
penitent  stand  out  with  particular  vividness.  The 
second  day  brings  the  preparatory  events  of  the 
Passion.  It  commences  with  the  Last  Supper  and 
reaches  its  climax  in  the  trial  of  Christ  before 
Pilate,  in  which  God  the  Father,  surrounded  by 
the  archangels  and  the  heavenly  host,  appears  as  a 
witness  to  the  glory  of  his  son,  humbled  and  de- 
graded into  a  poor  shiner.  A  disputation  between 
the  allegorical  figures  of  Ecclesia  and  Synagoga, 
the  representatives  of  the  two  contending  prin- 
ciples of  good  and  evil  which  direct  the  action  of 
the  whole  play,  brings  the  second  day  to  a  logically, 
if  not  artistically,  satisfactory  conclusion.  The 
third  day,  finally,  rises  to  the  greatest  events  of  the 
sacred  legend.  The  bearing  of  the  Cross,  the  la- 
mentation of  Mary,  the  crucifixion,  the  resurrec- 
tion, the  harrowing  of  hell,  the  scene  at  the  grave, 
the  ascension,  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Ghost  —  all 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  133 

this  is  passed  in  review  before  us,  with  hardy 
realism,  with  strong  accents  and  with  broad  effu- 
sion of  feeling;  so  that  the  last  scene,  the  parting 
of  the  Apostles  as  they  set  out  to  wander  through 
the  world  and  to  convey  the  glad  tidings  of  salva- 
tion to  all  mankind,  indeed  dismisses  us  with  the 
impression  of  a  great  personal  experience. 

Only  one  of  the  many  and  variegated  episodes 
which  make  the  whole  of  this  motley  Alsfeld  play 
I  should  like  to  analyze  a  little  more  fully,  hi  order 
to  bring  out  once  more  the  truthful  directness  and 
simplicity  in  the  representation  of  personal  char- 
acter in  which  the  principal  merit  of  all  these  plays 
is  to  be  found :  I  mean  the  John  the  Baptist  episode 
of  the  first  day  of  the  performance.1 

By  his  bold  stand  against  the  vicious  Herodias 
and  by  his  preaching  of  penitence  to  the  people, 
John  has  alarmed  hell.  Lucifer  is  afraid  of  him; 
he  fears  he  might  win  the  world  over  to  God;  he 
therefore  decides  upon  his  death  and  he  despatches 
Satan  to  execute  it.  Satan  assumes  the  disguise  of 
an  old  woman  and  enters  the  palace  of  Herodias. 
In  the  manner  of  a  witch,  he  accosts  her  with  in- 
sinuating flattery  and  inquires  why  her  eyes  are  so 
red  with  tears.  Herodias  blurts  out  at  once: 
"  That  has  been  done  to  me  by  the  evil  John.  He 

1  Froning,  ii,  584-606. 


134  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

has  spoken  so  ill  of  me  that  I  can  have  no  joy 
unless  I  have  revenge  on  him."  Satan  answers: 

Folget  mir,  frau!  ich  will  euch  lehren; 

HIT  sollt  euch  machen  an  euren  herren; 

Den  konig  Herodes  sollet  ihr  bitten 

Mit  schreienden  augen  nach  weibes  sitten 

Und  sollet  ihm  off nen  euer  leid ! 

So  weisz  ich  wohl,  er  wird  bereit, 

Dasz  er  tut  all  euren  willen. 

Eure  schreienden  augen  wird  er  stillen; 

Und  was  ihr  dann  von  ihm  begehrt, 

Des  seid  ihr  dann  von  ihm  gewahrt. 

Er  lasset  euch  in  keinen  noten, 

Und  sollte  er  den  bosen  mann  lassen  toten, 

Der  euch  so  leide  hat  getan. 

Damit  will  ich  von  hinnen  gan. 

Gebet  mir  urlaub,  fraue  zart! 

Ich  will  mich  machen  auf  mein'  fahrt!1 

In  reality,  however,  he  does  not  leave,  but  only 
steps  aside;  and  in  all  the  following  scenes  he 
remains  as  an  unobserved  observer  hi  the  back- 
ground. 

Herodias  acts  upon  Satan's  counsel.  She  de- 
clares to  the  king,  she  would  never  be  happy  and 
he  would  never  have  a  dutiful  wife  in  her,  unless  he 
were  willing  to  put  to  death  the  "  rudely  man- 
nered man  "  who  had  scolded  her  so  fiercely.  The 
king  is  only  too  willing  to  enter  upon  this;  he 
embraces  his  wife,  draws  her  close  to  him  on  his 

1  Verses  712  ff: 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  135 

chair,  calls  her  his  dear  darling  whose  fair  body  was 
dearer  to  him  than  all  the  treasures  of  the  world, 
and  bids  her  to  be  of  good  cheer;  for  her  wish 
would  be  fulfilled.  John  is  arrested,  dragged 
hither  and  thither  by  the  brutal  soldiers,  and 
finally  thrust  into  a  dungeon;  all  this,  without  his 
uttering  a  single  word  of  protest  or  complaint. 
His  disciples,  from  whose  midst  he  has  been 
snatched,  follow  him  to  the  prison  gate,  and  stand 
about  frightened  and  disconsolate,  longing  for  their 
lost  master.  The  king,  however,  happily  rid  of  the 
irksome  preacher  of  penitence,  wants  to  celebrate 
his  birthday  in  merry  good  fashion:  the  table  is  to 
be  crowded  with  game  and  fish,  with  pastry  and 
wine;  his  whole  retinue  is  to  feast  and  carouse; 
and  Herodias  and  her  daughter  are  to  sit  next  to 
him  and  forget  all  sorrow  and  care. 

Now  there  follows  the  dance  of  Herodias'  daugh- 
ter. The  king  attaches  to  his  request  for  a  dance 
the  well  known  promise  to  fulfill  any  wish  which 
the  daughter  might  ask.  After  she  has  danced,  he 
insists  upon  her  naming  her  wish.  The  girl  cannot 
make  up  her  mind;  she  must  ask  her  mother's 
advice  about  it.  And  now,  while  mother  and 
daughter  consult  with  each  other,  Satan,  still  in 
his  disguise  of  an  old  hag,  comes  forward  from  the 
background  and  whispers  into  their  ears,  "  Ask  for 


136  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

John's  head;  for  as  long  as  he  lives,  you  won't  be 
rulers  of  the  land."  Eagerly  the  passionate  Hero- 
dias  seizes  this  suggestion;  and  willingly  her 
daughter,  the  heartless  and  vain  society  girl,  enters 
upon  it.  With  a  dutiful  curtsy  she  accosts  the 
king  and  names  her  wish.  The  king,  after  a  brief 
struggle  with  himself,  grants  it. 

This  leads  to  the  climax  of  the  action.  The  be- 
heading of  John  is  carried  out  by  the  king's  brutal 
satellites  storming  into  the  dungeon  and  dragging 
him  out  with  insults  and  contumelies.  Herodias' 
daughter  receives  the  bleeding  head  without  any 
sign  of  horror  and  with  a  conventional  smile. 
Holding  it  before  her  on  the  platter  and  striking  up 
a  song  of  rejoicing,  she  dances  about.  But  in  the 
very  moment  when  she  passes  John's  head  over  to 
her  mother,  Satan  suddenly  reveals  his  true  self,  — 
he  throws  off  the  disguise  of  mantle  and  veil,  and 
standing  erect  and  threatening  in  all  his  diabolical 
grimness,  he  shouts: 

Hoiho!  Hoiho!  ich  hab  gesehen, 
Dasz  all  mein  wille  1st  geschehen ! 
Der  mann  in  unschuld  ist  ermort! 
Drum  will  ich  eilig  laufen  dort 
Zu  meinem  herren  Luzifer, 
Und  will  ihm  bringen  gute  mar. 
Ich  weisz,  er  wird  mich  wohl  empfahn. 
Da  ich  solch  liebe  ihm  getan.1 

1  Verses  1040  ff : 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  137 

Hell  rejoices  at  the  welcome  news.  The  devils 
storm  upon  earth,  enter  the  palace,  seize  Herodias 
and  her  daughter,  and  drag  them,  regardless  of 
their  cries  for  help  and  their  woeful  lamentations, 
down  to  eternal  perdition. 

We  may  say  that  all  this  is  good,  healthy,  home- 
made food.  Nothing  of  the  brilliant  complexity 
of  Heine's  Herodias.1  Nothing  of  the  theatrical 
cleverness  of  Sudermann's  Johannes.  Nothing  of 
the  perverse  sensual  passion  of  Oscar  Wilde's 
Salome.  The  characters  of  this  Aisfeld  Play  are 
direct,  transparent,  naive;  they  offer  us  no  riddles 
to  solve;  they  do  not  shock  our  nerves.  But  how 
vividly  and  clearly  do  these  figures  stand  before  us: 
John,  the  fiery  preacher  of  penitence,  and  at  the 
same  tune  the  humble  man  of  non-resistance; 
Herod,  the  bragging  tyrant  and  the  henpecked 
husband;  the  impassioned,  ambitious  Herodias; 
her  daughter,  the  pretty  and  soulless  society  doll; 
and  above  all  Satan  with  his  craftiness  and  ver- 
satility, with  his  grim  maliciousness  and  his  blind 
rage  for  destruction.  In  characters  and  scenes 
like  these,  the  Christian  legend,  we  feel,  has  come 
to  be  entirely  acclimatized  to  German  city  life  of 
the  fifteenth  century;  it  has  come  to  be  a  perfect 
expression  of  the  personal  experience  of  the  average 
citizen  of  those  days. 

1  Atta  Troll,  c.  19;  Werke  ed.  Karpeles,  ii,  152  ff. 


138  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

I  have  tried  to  reproduce  something  of  the 
wealth  of  personal  feeling  and  personal  character 
contained  in  the  religious  drama  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  It  seems  proper  to  conclude  with  a  few 
remarks  upon  a  man  who,  although  in  a  different 
field  of  art,  has  given  to  this  tendency  toward 
imbuing  sacred  legend  with  the  fullness  of  personal 
experience  its  consummate  artistic  form,  Albrecht 
Diirer.  The  parallelism  that  exists  between  the 
German  religious  drama  and  German  religious 
painting  of  the  fifteenth  century  could  not  be 
better  illustrated. 

While  Holbein  was  a  man  of  a  distinctly  secular 
frame  of  mind  and  therefore  pursued  his  path 
either  away  from  medieval  tradition,  or  (as  in  his 
Dance  of  Death)  in  direct  opposition  to  it,  Diirer 
found  the  perfection  of  his  artistic  personality  in 
the  inner  assimilation  of  this  tradition.  Proof  of 
this  is  above  all  the  four  great  series  of  woodcuts 
which  appeared  between  1498  and  1511,  the 
Apocalypse,  the  Life  of  Mary,  the  Large  Passion, 
and  the  Little  Passion.  These  woodcuts  belong  to 
the  formative  period  of  his  life;  they  show  him  in 
the  midst  of  his  mental  conflicts:  losing  himself  hi 
the  mysteries  of  scholastic  speculation;  refreshing 
himself  in  the  pure  fountain  of  sacred  legend;  pro- 
testing against  the  corruption  and  worldliness  of 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  139 

the  church  of  his  day;  in  spite  of  doubt  and 
disappointment  clinging  to  the  faith  that  at  last 
there  will  come  a  tune  when  the  dream  of  the 
ages,  the  advent  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  will  be 
realized. 

Throughout  the  fifteenth  century  the  figures 
of  sacred  legend  had  been  presented  to  the  popu- 
lar eye  not  only  upon  the  stage  of  the  religious 
drama,  but  also  in  countless  paintings  enshrined 
hi  churches  and  convents.  And  in  painting  no  less 
than  in  the  drama,  there  had  been  a  constant  at- 
tempt to  reconcile  deepest  soul  experience  with 
objective  representation  of  outer  reality.  In  the 
monumental  calm  of  the  Ghent  altar,  in  the  emo- 
tional intensity  of  Rogier  van  der  Weyden,  hi  the 
mild  beauty  of  Memlinc  and  the  serene  transpar- 
ency of  Dirk  Bouts,  in  the  idyllic  charm  of  the 
Cologne  masters  and  the  naive  contemplativeness 
of  Schongauer  and  Wohlgemut,  religious  painting 
of  the  fifteenth  century  had  achieved  wonders  of 
truly  popular  art.  This  whole  movement  reaches 
its  climax  in  Durer.  In  Diirer  all  that  medieval 
Christianity  had  gathered  in  power  and  delicacy, 
ecstatic  passion  and  idyllic  contemplation,  fan- 
tastic longing  for  the  infinite  and  lusty  enjoyment 
of  the  present,  is  brought  together  and  united  into 
a  compact  and  mighty  artistic  personality. 


140  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  fantastic  element  predominates  in  the 
scenes  from  the  Apocalypse.1  But  all  the  more 
remarkable  is  the  sure  sense  of  reality  with  which 
Dtirer  succeeds  in  giving  form  to  the  ecstatic 
visions  of  oriental  imagination  and  in  adapting 
them  to  the  f  eelings  of  his  own  people  and  his  own 
tune.  Like  an  event  of  real  life  appears  the  open- 
ing of  the  gates  of  heaven,  the  third  cut  of  the 
series.  Diirer  transports  us  here  into  a  romantic 
landscape  showing  the  characteristic  traits  of  his 
Franconian  homeland:  forest,  rock,  and  lake, 
castles  on  hilltops,  mountains  in  the  distance. 
Above  all  this,  in  the  clouds,  the  scriptural  vision, 
but  likewise  conceived  in  the  forms  of  the  life 
which  surrounded  Diirer  himself.  The  gates  of 
heaven  are  evidently  the  portals  of  some  medieval 
cathedral;  the  throne  of  God  stands  in  the  choir 
of  this  cathedral;  the  seven  lamps  of  fire  above  the 
throne  have  the  shape  of  medieval  church  vessels; 
and  at  the  right  and  the  left  there  sit  in  richly 
carved  choirstalls  the  twenty-four  Elders,  like 
canons  of  a  cathedral  chapter.  The  Elder  furthest 
in  the  foreground  at  the  left  turns  with  a  friendly 
gesture  to  the  reverently  kneeling  John  the  Evan- 
gelist. The  whole  composition  calls  up  the  feelings 

1  Edited,  in  phototypic  reproduction,  by  J.  N.  Sepp;  Miinchen, 
1896. 


THE  APOCALYPTIC  RIDERS 

From  Durer's  Apocalypse 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  141 

which  we  experience  in  entering  a  venerable 
church;  and  only  the  clouds  on  which  the  heavenly 
apparition  rests,  and  the  rays  of  light  which  break 
forth  from  the  opened  gates,  transport  us  into  the 
world  of  visions. 

Of  grandiose  dramatic  effect  are  the  plates  which 
have  for  their  subject  the  executors  of  divine  Judg- 
ment, above  all  the  angels  of  wrath  and  the  four 
apocalyptic  riders.  In  representing  the  apocalyptic 
riders  Diirer  omits  the  landscape  entirely,  in 
order  to  concentrate  the  attention  upon  the  four 
gruesome  riders,  galloping  away  over  unhappy 
mankind:  Pestilence  shooting  its  arrow,  War 
brandishing  its  sword,  Famine  swinging  a  parr  of 
empty  scales,  Death  jogging  along  on  a  jaded  nag 
and  flourishing  the  infernal  trident.  We  entirely 
forget  the  allegorical  character  of  these  figures. 
We  only  feel  their  irresistible  storming  onward,  all 
the  more  forcibly,  since  we  do  not  see  whence  or 
whither  they  storm.  They  break  forth,  as  it  were, 
from  the  dark;  and  we  are  immediately  in  front  of 
the  hoofs  of  their  horses,  as  they  trample  down 
whatever  is  in  their  way.  Of  similar  dramatic  in- 
tensity is  the  picture  of  the  work  of  destruction 
wrought  by  the  angels  of  wrath.  Diirer  represents 
them  as  tall,  gaunt,  bony  men  with  vultures' 
wings,  filled,  one  might  say,  with  apathetic  grim- 


142  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ness  and  cold  revenge.  Swinging  their  swords, 
they  are  wading  through  a  surging  mass  of  human 
bodies,  from  which  there  emerge  in  wild  confusion 
figures  of  despair,  of  impotent  struggling,  of  the 
dying  and  the  dead.  One  of  the  angels  seizes  a 
woman  by  her  hair;  another  strikes  down  horse 
and  rider;  a  third  brandishes  his  sword  over  an 
old  man  who  in  vain  appeals  to  his  mercy;  a 
fourth  has  seized  the  pope  by  the  shoulder,  as  he 
lies  on  the  ground;  while  the  emperor,  likewise  on 
the  ground,  tries  to  protect  his  tottering  crown. 
One  feels  the  approaching  breakdown  of  medieval 
society  hi  this  fierce,  passionate  conception. 

What  a  contrast  between  the  solemn  grandeur 
of  these  Apocalyptic  visions  and  the  idyllic  charm 
of  Diirer's  Life  of  Mary.1  Many  as  are  the  medi- 
eval poets  and  painters  who  have  vied  with  each 
other  in  glorifying  the  Virgin,  none  of  them  have 
treated  her  legend  in  as  truly  popular  a  manner  as 
Diirer.  None  of  them  have  made  the  Queen  of 
Heaven  so  human,  so  bourgeois,  so  German. 

Abounding  in  variety  of  characters  are  the  intro- 
ductory scenes  from  the  legend  of  Joachim  and 
Anna.  In  the  Refusal  of  their  Offerings  by  the 
High  Priest,  on  account  of  the  childlessness  of  their 

1  Edited,  in  phototypic  reproduction,  by  Bruno  Meyer;  Leipzig, 
1887. 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  143 

marriage,  the  contrition  of  Joachim,  the  mute 
despair  of  Anna  effectively  contrast  with  the  sym- 
pathy, the  indifference,  the  contempt  of  the  crowd 
of  bystanders.  The  appearance  of  the  angel  before 
Joachim  in  the  wilderness,  with  the  glad  tidings 
that  God  has  heard  his  prayer  for  a  child  even  in 
his  old  age,  is  represented  with  telling  naivete". 
The  scenery  is  a  forest  by  the  sea;  sheep  are  graz- 
ing on  a  pasture;  the  shepherds  seeing  the  vision 
from  on  high,  raise  their  heads  and  spread  their 
arms  in  utter  amazement.  The  angel  brings  the 
divine  message  in  the  form  of  an  official  parch- 
ment, on  which  not  even  the  seal  is  lacking.  Old 
Joachim  in  the  foreground  bends  his  knees, 
overcome  with  emotion. 

Touching  is  the  meeting  of  Joachim  and  Anna, 
at  the  golden  Gate  of  Jerusalem,  after  his  return 
from  the  wilderness.  He  has  just  imparted  to  his 
wife  the  angelic  message.  In  speechless  happiness 
she  leans  on  her  husband's  breast,  received  by  him 
with  loving  tenderness.  A  number  of  bystanders 
seem  to  engage  in  gossipy  conversation  about 
them.  A  vivid  picture  of  German  burgher  life  is 
presented  in  the  Birth  of  the  Virgin.  In  the  back- 
ground lies  Anna  in  bed,  weak  and  exhausted, 
tended  by  two  women  friends,  while  a  third  is  sit- 
ting by  the  bed,  apparently  resting  from  the  exer- 


144  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

tions  of  a  sleepless  night.  The  foreground  is  filled 
with  a  whole  crowd  of  gossips  and  neighbors,  being 
in  various  stages  of  excitement  over  the  advent  of  a 
little  daughter  hi  the  house.  One  of  the  women  is 
giving  the  new  born  baby  a  bath,  others  are  busy 
with  the  swaddling  clothes,  still  others  are  eagerly 
discussing  the  great  event,  while  a  mighty  beer-jug 
goes  the  round  among  them.  Only  the  angel  hover- 
ing over  this  scene,  swinging  a  censer,  reminds  us 
that  it  is  not  an  every  day  incident  from  Diirer's 
own  time  and  surroundings. 

And  now  there  follows  the  life  of  Mary  herself, 
and  the  childhood  and  early  manhood  of  her  son, 
told  with  the  same  naive  assimilation  of  the  sacred 
legend  to  the  sphere  of  German  burgherdom  and 
with  the  same  power  of  individual  characterization. 
Five  of  these  scenes  may  serve  to  illustrate  Diirer's 
wealth  of  motives  and  the  popular  truthfulness  of 
his  manner:  the  Visitation,  the  Presentation  hi  the 
Temple,  the  Flight  into  Egypt,  the  Sojourn  in 
Egypt,  and  the  Leave-taking  of  Jesus  from  his 
Mother. 

Something  like  foreboding  expectancy  surrounds 
the  Visitation.  It  takes  place  in  a  gorgeous  land- 
scape, fantastic  rocks  and  mountain  tops  looming 
up  over  wide  stretches  of  woodland.  While  the 
women  embrace  each  other,  Zacharias  appears  at 


THE  VISITATION 
From  Durer's  Life  of  Mary 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  145 

the  door,  his  felt  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  at  them 
with  a  somewhat  troubled  expression.  Full  of 
solemn  calmness,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  Pre- 
sentation in  the  Temple.  Most  impressive  is  the 
noble  Renaissance  entablature  supported  by  mas- 
sive columns  under  which  the  sacred  ceremony  is 
being  performed;  through  the  columns  one  sees 
into  the  mysterious  darkness  of  the  temple.  With 
patriarchal  benignity  old  Simeon  bends  over  the 
little  child;  reverently  and  demurely  Joseph  and 
Mary  look  on;  an  air  of  calm  edification  lies  over 
the  crowd  of  friends  and  relatives  silently  standing 
by. 

The  Flight  into  Egypt,  conceived  after  a  print  of 
Schongauer's,  shows  the  holy  family  on  their  pil- 
grimage, journeying  very  much  in  the  same  man- 
ner in  which  German  peasants  of  Diirer's  time 
would  journey  to  a  country  fair.  Good  Joseph  is 
trudging  along  in  front,  carrying  most  of  the  bag- 
gage on  his  back,  leading  the  ass  on  which  the 
mother  sits,  the  baby  on  her  lap,  her  big  traveling 
hat  hanging  over  her  shoulders.  Even  the  cow  the 
thrifty  people  have  taken  along,  so  that  they  will 
not  suffer  want  in  foreign  lands.  The  Sojourn  in 
Egypt  also  takes  us  to  the  Germany  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Joseph  has  established  his  carpenter 
shop  in  the  courtyard  of  a  rambling,  half  tumbled 


146  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

down  building,  such  as  Niirnberg  in  Diirer's  time 
must  have  had  many.  He  is  just  pausing  from  his 
work,  and  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  group  next  to 
him:  the  young  mother  sitting  at  the  distaff  and 
at  the  same  time  rocking  the  baby  in  the  cradle, 
while  adoring  angels,  like  good  fairies,  bend  over 
the  child  to  bless  it.  Little  winged  genii  are  play- 
ing around  Joseph,  collecting  chips  of  wood  into  a 
basket,  running  about  with  toy  wind  mills,  trying 
to  blow  on  sticks  of  wood  as  on  trumpets.  One  of 
them  has  even  playfully  cocked  Joseph's  hat  upon 
his  little  head.  Above,  in  the  clouds,  there  appears 
the  figure  of  God  the  Father,  with  patriarchal  satis- 
faction looking  down  upon  this  peaceful  picture  of 
domestic  happiness.  In  striking  contrast  with 
these  idyllic  scenes,  finally,  one  of  the  last  cuts  of 
the  whole  series:  Christ's  leave-taking  from  his 
aged  mother,  before  his  last  journey  to  Jerusalem. 
Here  everything  is  grand  and  pathetic.  Christ,  a 
heroic  figure,  is  turning  to  go.  His  austere  and 
solemn  attitude  shows  that  he  is  ready  to  take  the 
cross  upon  him.  For  the  last  tune,  he  blesses  his 
mother  who,  wringing  her  hands  despairingly, 
sinks  down  in  anguish.  Two  women  companions 
beside  her;  one  of  them  seems  to  beseech  Jesus  to 
have  pity  on  his  heart-broken  mother;  the  other 
one  wraps  herself  hi  her  mantle  with  an  expression 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE 
From  Dttrer's  Little  Passion 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  147 

of  horror.  Here  we  feel  that  the  time  of  Christ's 
Passion  is  approaching. 

The  Passion  of  the  Lord,  Diirer  has  represented 
many  tunes,  hi  individual  scenes  as  well  as  hi 
cycles  of  scenes;  most  impressively,  however,  in 
the  two  series  of  woodcuts  called  the  Large  and  the 
Little  Passion.  The  Arrest  of  Christ  and  the  Bear- 
ing of  the  Cross  in  the  Large  Passion,  the  Man  of 
Sorrows,  the  Cleansing  of  the  Temple,  Gethsemane, 
Christ  before  Pilate,  the  Crown  of  Thorns,  the 
Harrowing  of  Hell  in  the  Little  Passion 1  —  what  a 
gallery  of  soul  portraits,  what  monumental  art,  an 
art  reduced  to  the  essentials,  crowding  into  narrow 
compass  a  world  of  deepest  feeling. 

In  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  all  the  sufferings  of 
Christ  have  been  concentrated  into  the  figure  of 
the  lonely  sitting  man,  bent  together,  wrestling 
with  himself.  In  the  Cleansing  of  the  Temple, 
Christ's  scorn  and  indignation  over  the  desecration 
of  the  sanctuary  are  brought  out  not  so  much  by 
his  face  —  the  face  is  almost  concealed  from  view 
—  as  by  the  irresistible  forward  movement  of  his 
whole  body  and  above  all  by  his  heavy,  flowing  gar- 
ment which  gives  to  this  forward  movement  weight 
and  momentum.  In  the  Arrest  of  Christ,  it  is  the 

1  Edited,  in  phototypic  reproduction,  by  Bruno  Meyer;  Leipzig, 
1887. 


148  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

rhythm  of  contrasting  movements  which  reveals 
the  inner  life.  Christ  is  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  popu- 
lar tumult.  The  shouting,  roaring  soldiers  are 
dragging,  pulling,  pushing  Christ  along.  From  the 
darkness  of  the  background  Judas  stealthily  ap- 
proaches for  the  traitorous  kiss.  While  Christ  is 
being  swept  along  hi  this  mad  torrent,  he  seems 
inwardly  raised  above  it.  Only  the  lower  limbs  are 
instinctively  yielding  to  the  force  that  draws  him 
forward.  His  head  is  thrown  back  and  seems  to  see 
heaven  opened.  In  the  Bearing  of  the  Cross,  it  is 
above  all  the  eye  of  Christ  which  holds  us  in  its 
spell.  Christ  has  succumbed  under  the  weight  of 
the  Cross.  He  has  sunk  down  upon  his  knees. 
With  one  arm  he  holds  the  cross  on  his  shoulder, 
with  the  other  he  supports  himself  upon  the  stump 
of  a  tree.  Thus  he  looks  back  with  a  glance  of 
nameless  woe  but  complete  self-renunciation  upon 
his  followers,  as  though  he  were  saying:  "  It  is  for 
you  that  I  grieve,  not  for  myself." 

Thus  we  might  go  through  this  whole  series  of 
scenes  and  everywhere  we  would  be  forced  to  make 
the  same  observation.  It  is  the  intense  individual- 
ization,  the  deep  personal  experience  that  gives 
to  Diirer's  representations  of  the  Christian  legend 
their  compelling  power,  that  makes  them  uni- 
versally human  documents.  The  mystics  of  the 


THE  RELIGIOUS  DRAMA  149 

fourteenth  century,  as  we  have  seen  before,  trans- 
formed the  ecclesiastical  doctrine  into  an  inner 
experience  of  the  individual  self.  The  folksong 
of  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages  created  an  image  of 
the  outer  world  from  the  depth  of  individual  feel- 
ing. Satirical  narrative  measured  society  by  sub- 
jective standards.  The  religious  drama  clothed 
the  biblical  events  in  the  garb  of  contemporary 
life.  All  this  re-echoes  in  Diirer's  work  and  makes 
him  look  at  the  whole  mass  of  medieval  tradition, 
reverently  to  be  sure,  but  with  perfect  spiritual 
freedom. 

In  his  Holy  Trinity  of  1513,  this  whole  medieval 
world  once  more  comes  to  view  in  all  its  f ullness  and 
glory.  This  painting  is  indeed  a  glorification  of  the 
all-embracing,  universal  church,  a  worthy  counter- 
part and  companion  of  the  Ghent  altar  of  the 
brothers  van  Eyck.  A  wonderful  unity  holds  to- 
gether these  countless  figures  which,  high  above  in 
the  heavenly  regions,  congregate,  in  four  concen- 
tric circles,  about  the  Trinity:  winged  heads  of  the 
Seraphim,  angels  carrying  the  insignia  of  Christ's 
Passion,  the  Saints  and  Martyrs  led  by  the  Virgin 
Mary,  the  Patriarchs  and  Prophets  of  the  Old 
Testament  led  by  John  the  Baptist,  the  vast 
multitude  of  believers,  both  clergy  and  laity.  All 
are  imbued  with  the  same  feeling  of  religious  rap- 


150  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ture,  all  are  blissful  in  the  sight  of  the  divine.  But 
at  the  same  time,  what  a  variety  of  types,  from 
pope  and  emperor  down  to  burgher  and  peasant! 
How  deeply  conceived,  how  clearly  differentiated 
the  faces!  What  a  wealth  in  personalities!  And 
below  this  whole  heavenly  apparition,  in  a  wide 
lonely  landscape,  stately  and  erect,  wrapt  in  his 
mantle,  his  masterful  and  thoughtful  eye  gazing 
into  the  distance,  there  stands  the  man  from  whose 
innermost  self  this  fullness  of  visions  has  sprung; 
and  his  feeling  of  self  is  expressed  in  the  inscription 
next  to  him:  Albertus  Durer  Noricus  faciebat. 

This  painting  is  the  last  great  medieval  creation 
of  German  art.  It  is  a  forerunner  of  an  era  of 
universal  and  free  humanity. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  HUMANIST  ENLIGHTENMENT:  ERASMUS 

TO  appreciate  fully  what  at  the  beginning  of  the 
sixteenth  century  was  at  stake  for  German 
culture,  we  must  remember  that  the  two  preceding 
centuries  had  been  signalized  by  a  constantly  ris- 
ing tide  of  individualism.  In  the  ecstatic  rapture 
and  the  deep  inwardness  of  the  mystics  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  in  the  freedom  and  directness  of 
folksong,  in  the  grotesque  subjectivity  of  the 
bourgeois  satire,  in  the  secular  liveliness  of  the  re- 
ligious drama,  in  the  intense  truthfulness  of  reli- 
gious painting,  this  movement,  directed  toward  a 
heightening  and  intensifying  of  personality,  had 
found  its  most  characteristic  expression.  Now,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  it  seemed  as 
though  this  movement  was  about  to  lead  to  a 
classic  era  of  noble  humanity,  as  though  Human- 
ism and  Reformation,  allied  in  a  common  struggle 
for  freedom,  were  to  inspire  the  German  people 
with  a  new  idealism  and  a  new  faith. 

To  be  sure,  the  achievements  of  German  human- 
ism have  frequently  been  overrated,  not  only  by 
the  humanists  themselves  but  also  by  their  modern 


152  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

admirers.  The  great  chivalric  poets  of  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries  and  the  great  mystics  of 
the  fourteenth  century  had  penetrated  more  deeply 
into  the  problems  of  life,  they  had  recognized  more 
clearly  the  necessity  of  self-discipline  for  the  de- 
velopment of  true  personality  than  most  of  the 
pretentious  humanist  "  poetae  "  who  talk  so  much 
about  their  own  precious  ego.  In  vying  with  their 
chosen  models,  the  great  writers  of  Greece  and 
Rome,  the  humanists  remained  nothing  but  cold 
imitators.  Their  supercilious  turning  away  from 
the  life  and  the  language  of  their  own  people 
brought  about  that  baneful  division  of  the  people 
into  so-called  educated  and  so-called  uneducated 
which  has  given  to  German  culture  down  to 
Lessing  the  prevailing  stamp  of  artificiality  and 
unnaturalness.  And  personally,  the  humanists, 
as  a  rule,  were  by  no  means  such  pure  and  un- 
defiled  idealists  as  they  themselves  took  pains  to 
make  themselves  appear  to  be.  On  the  contrary, 
as  typical  figures  of  a  time  out  of  joint  socially  and 
spiritually,  the  majority  of  their  spokesmen  were 
inclined  to  all  sorts  of  license  and  excess  and  often 
lacked  conspicuously  in  steadfastness  of  moral 
purpose.  Nor  can  the  German  humanists,  in  par- 
ticular, be  compared  in  beauty  and  grace  of  ut- 
terance and  conduct  with  the  Italian  humanists 


ERASMUS  153 

whose  Neo-platonism  helped  to  build  the  world 
of  matchless  form  that  eradiates  from  the  works 
of  Lionardo,  Raffael  and  Michelangelo. 

The  strength  of  German  humanism  lies  in  its 
critical  impetus.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  this 
critical  impetus  also  was  not  altogether  free  from 
blemish.  In  many  cases  it  ran  riot  and  conse- 
quently led  to  extravagant  and  fantastic  vagaries 
—  one  only  need  to  think  of  such  men  as  Paracelsus 
or  Agrippa  of  Nettesheim.  The  popular  figure  of 
the  sorcerer  Faustus  is  the  well-known  legendary 
type  of  this  side  of  German  humanism.  Yet,  with 
all  these  reservations,  the  fact  remains  that  the 
German  humanists  of  the  sixteenth  century,  as  a 
whole,  have  been  among  the  principal  forerunners 
of  the  modern  scientific  view  of  the  world. 

They  based  their  view  of  the  world  upon  the 
intellect  instead  of  the  belief.  They  found  their 
religion  in  the  striving  for  insight  into  the  reason- 
ableness of  the  universe.  They  taught  a  morality 
which  places  the  reward  of  virtue  in  the  feeling  of 
harmony  with  reason  and  in  work  for  the  enlighten- 
ment of  humanity.  They  kindled  a  light  which, 
although  soon  to  be  eclipsed  by  the  dogmatic  con- 
flict between  Protestantism  and  Catholicism,  has 
shone  into  the  far  distance  and  has  again  and  again 
awakened  new  life. 


154  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  central  figure  of  humanism  north  of  the 
Alps,  and  especially  of  German  humanism,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  was  Erasmus 
of  Rotterdam.  Until  Luther  shook  the  world  with 
his  first  revolutionary  manifestoes,  Erasmus  was 
the  controlling  power  of  German  intellectual  life. 
In  all  German  universities  where  the  humanist 
"  poetae  "  struggled  for  supremacy  against  their 
adversaries  the  "  theologistae,"  Erasmus'  name 
was  the  watchword  around  which  the  representa- 
tives of  the  new  conception  of  human  freedom  and 
human  dignity  rallied.1  The  young  Tubingen 
magister  artium  Philip  Melanchthon  published  in 
1516  an  original  poem  in  Greek  "  in  Erasmum 
optimum  maximum,"  in  which  Zeus  entertains 
Apollo  and  the  Muses  with  the  sweet-perfumed 
flowers  of  Erasmus'  poetry.  In  a  letter  of  October, 
1516,  Ulrich  von  Hutten  addressed  Erasmus  as  the 
German  Socrates  whom  he  would  like  to  serve  with 
greater  devotion  than  Alcibiades  had  shown  toward 
the  Greek  philosopher.  In  the  same  year  he  desig- 
nated Erasmus  and  Reuchlin  as  the  two  eyes  of 
Germany:  through  them,  he  said,  the  German 
people  had  been  wrested  from  barbarism.  As  a 
second  Hercules,  who  had  freed  the  world  from  the 
monsters  of  darkness,  Erasmus  was  greeted  in  1517 

1  Cf.  Paulsen,  Gesch.  d.  gelehrten  Unterrichts  i,  102. 


ERASMUS  155 

by  the  Cologne  humanist,  Caesarius;  as  a  second 
Paul,  who  was  bringing  back  genuine  Christianity, 
he  was  glorified  by  the  Leipzig  theologian,  Hierony- 
mus  Emser.  In  Niirnberg,  the  Erasmian  ideal  of 
a  reconciliation  between  the  Church  and  classical 
antiquity  found  a  splendid  embodiment  in  the 
stately  patrician  Willibald  Pirkheimer.  At  the 
University  of  Erfurt,  Eobanus  Hessus  based  his 
lectures  on  humanism  upon  the  Erasmian  "  Hand- 
book of  a  Christian  Soldier."  In  the  circle  of  the 
brilliant  Mutianus  at  Gotha,  Erasmian  toleration 
and  free  thought  became  the  spiritual  bond  of  a 
literary  coterie  of  extraordinary  refinement  and 
aristocratic  fastidiousness  of  cultivation.  Mutia- 
nus himself  has  said:  "  Erasmus  surpasses  the 
measure  of  human  gifts.  He  is  divine,  and  must  be 
worshipped  in  pious  devoutness." 

This  seemingly  excessive  praise  of  Erasmus  by 
his  contemporaries  was  after  all  not  undeserved. 
It  rested  on  the  instinctive  feeling  that  Erasmus 
was  the  most  perfect  personal  embodiment  of  the 
ideals  hi  which  the  humanists  believed. 

None  of  the  German  humanists  represents  the 
intellectual  culture  of  the  sixteenth  century  hi  as 
brilliant  a  manner  as  Erasmus.  None  has  made 
freedom  of  critical  investigation  so  consistently  as 
he  the  measure  of  all  thinking  and  acting.  None 


156  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

has  had  the  same  power  of  creating  works  of  art  of 
universally  human  significance,  on  the  basis  of  this 
strictly  intellectual  view  of  life.  Erasmus  of  all 
men  of  his  time  comes  nearest  the  ideal  of  cul- 
ture of  the  eighteenth  century.  He  combines  in 
himself  the  two  seemingly  opposed  tendencies  — 
scepticism  and  optimism  —  which  in  the  age  of 
rationalism  were  to  reign  supreme  in  all  Europe. 

Sceptical  observation  is  the  basis  of  Erasmian 
wisdom.  No  authority  and  no  hallowed  institution 
escapes  his  searching  criticism.  Everywhere  he 
looks  through  appearances  into  the  essence  of 
things.  With  daring  courage  and  subtlest  irony  he 
unmasks  the  selfishness,  the  vanity,  the  cruelty, 
the  greed,  the  laziness,  and  above  all  the  stupidity 
which  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  men  hide  them- 
selves behind  solemn  manners,  fine  words,  and 
brilliant  pomp.  Nay,  all  life  often  appears  to 
Erasmus  as  one  great  farce.  For  men  deceive 
themselves;  they  really  believe  to  be  what  they 
would  like  to  seem;  they  themselves  do  not  know 
how  absurd  they  are.  Erasmus,  however,  would 
rob  them  of  this  self-illusion,  he  would  make  them 
spectators  of  their  own  folly,  he  would  enable  them 
to  have  a  laugh  at  themselves. 

But  the  Erasmian  laughter  is  by  no  means  sa- 
tanic.  Erasmus  is  not  a  spirit  of  negation.  On  the 


ERASMUS  157 

contrary,  if  ever  a  man  believed  in  the  power  of 
mind  and  in  the  mission  of  reason,  it  was  he.  In 
this  subtle  satirist,  this  delicately  organized,  ner- 
vously sensitive  scholar  there  lives  a  firm  faith  in 
the  final  victory  of  the  few  enlightened  over  the 
stolid  ignorance  of  the  mass,  there  lives  a  supreme 
trust  in  the  ultimate  redemption  of  humanity.  We 
may  say  that  nearly  all  the  liberating  ideas  which 
make  the  foundation  of  the  international  culture 
of  the  present  age  are  to  be  found,  more  or  less 
developed,  hi  his  thought. 

His  whole  life  is  pervaded  by  the  thoughts  of 
religious  reform  which  he  presented  for  the  first 
tune  connectedly  in  his  youthful  production  "  The 
Handbook  of  a  Christian  Soldier,"  written  in  1502; 
they  cuhninate  in  the  demand  for  spiritualization 
and  rationalization  of  ecclesiastical  forms.1  Reason 
is  for  Erasmus  "  a  queen,  a  divine  counselor.  En- 
throned in  her  lofty  citadel,  mindful  of  her  exalted 
origin  she  does  not  admit  a  thought  of  baseness  or 
impurity."  It  is  to  reason  that  we  must  turn  to 
fathom  the  divine  wisdom,  it  is  here  that  the  roots 
of  self-perfection  lie.  To  the  unenlightened  mind, 
the  Bible  remains  a  labyrinth  of  contradictions,  a 
book  full  of  insipid  and  even  unmoral  incidents. 

1  For  the  following  cf.  Enchiridion  Militis  Christiani,  Lugd.  Batav. 
1641,  pp.  96, 171, 173, 145. 


158  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Through  rational  interpretation,  Erasmus  thinks, 
we  learn  to  understand  it  as  a  symbolical  expres- 
sion of  moral  truths.  An  unthinking  piety  is  with- 
out avail.  "  Christ,"  says  Erasmus,  "  despises 
the  eating  of  his  flesh  and  the  drinking  of  his 
blood,  if  it  is  not  taken  spiritually.  God  hates  a 
well  fed,  corpulent  devoutness."  But  the  rational 
believer  sees  the  working  of  a  divine  spirit  every- 
where, his  eye  is  open  to  the  beauty,  the  wisdom, 
the  virtue  of  all  ages,  he  penetrates  to  the  very  core 
of  Christianity.  "  For  Christ  is  nothing  else  than 
love,  simplicity,  patience,  purity,  in  short  all  that 
he  himself  taught;  and  the  devil  is  nothing  but 
that  which  draws  us  away  from  those  ideals." 

To  teach  and  to  further  this  "  philosophy  of 
Christ,"  as  he  called  it,  i.  e.,  a  rational,  practical, 
human,  undogmatic  Christianity,  Erasmus  consid- 
ered the  task  of  his  life;  from  it  there  spring  all  the 
other  ideals  of  his  manifold  intellectual  activity. 

More  clearly  than  any  of  his  contemporaries  he 
saw  before  his  eyes  the  ideal  of  a  religion  of  man; 
and  the  bold  conception  of  an  amalgamation  be- 
tween ancient  and  Christian  culture  has  perhaps 
nowhere  found  as  touching  and  genuinely  human 
an  expression  as  in  the  famous  passage  of  his  "  Re- 
ligious Banquet  ": 1  "  Surely  the  first  place  is  due 

1  Convivium  Religiosum  ;  Cottoquia  Familiaria,  Amstelodami  1679, 
pp.  128,  132. 


ERASMUS  159 

to  holy  script:  but  sometimes  I  find  some  things 
said  or  written  by  the  ancients,  by  pagans  and 
poets,  so  chaste,  so  holy,  so  divine,  that  I  am  per- 
suaded a  good  genius  enlightened  them.   Certainly, 
there  are  many  in  the  communion  of  saints  who  are 
not  hi  our  catalogue  of  saints.    I  confess,  I  cannot 
read  Cicero's  books  on  old  age,  on  friendship,  on 
the  duties,  or  his  Tusculan  disquisitions,  without 
kissing  the  book,  and  worshipping  the  saintly  heart 
which  was  imbued  by  divine  spirit.    And  truly,  I 
have  never  read  anything  in  the  ancients  which 
comes  nearer  Christianity  than  the  words  which 
Socrates  addressed  to   Crito  shortly  before  he 
drank  the  poison.    This  great  man  did  not  trust  in 
his  own  achievements;  but  since  he  was  conscious 
of  his  endeavor  to  obey  God's  will,  he  was  inspired 
by  the  hope  that  God,  on  account  of  the  purity  of 
this  endeavor,  would  accept  him  in  His  mercy. 
Truly,  a  wonderful  elevation  of  mind  for  a  man 
who  knew  neither  Christ  nor  the  Scriptures.   And 
thus,  when  I  read  such  things,  I  can  hardly  forego 
exclaiming:  '  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis.' ' 

From  this  toleration  and  magnanimity  of  his 
religious  conceptions  there  emanates,  furthermore, 
the  enthusiasm  of  Erasmus  for  everything  that 
serves  the  cause  of  peace  and  his  persistent,  inde- 
fatigable agitation  against  the  uselessness  and 


160  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

wickedness  of  war,  which  has  even  induced  him,  in 
his  book  on  "  The  Education  of  a  Prince,"  dedi- 
cated to  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth,  to  propose  in 
so  many  words  the  establishment  of  an  interna- 
tional tribunal  of  arbitration  for  the  settlement  of 
disputes  of  foreign  politics.  From  the  same  sense 
for  the  reasonable  and  the  useful  there  emanate  his 
many  endeavors  for  popular  enlightenment  and 
popular  welfare,  his  protest  against  taxing  the 
necessaries  of  life,  and  his  advocacy  of  taxing  arti- 
cles of  luxury,  his  demand  of  reform  in  public  sani- 
tation, his  propositions  for  the  prevention  of  the 
propagation  of  sexual  diseases,  his  condemnation 
of  wet-nursing  as  a  danger  for  the  health  and  purity 
of  the  race,  his  insistence  also  on  the  necessity  of 
the  higher  education  of  women. 

And  finally,  in  this  trust  in  the  power  of  reason 
and  hi  this  conviction  of  the  value  of  human  self- 
reliance  there  lies  the  cause  for  Erasmus'  protest 
against  Luther's  doctrine  of  determinism.  Erasmus 
revolted  instinctively  against  the  Augustinian  con- 
ception that  God  works  the  evil  as  well  as  the  good 
in  us  and  rewards  His  own  good  works  hi  us  and 
punishes  His  own  evil  works  in  us.  "  How  far,"  he 
says,1  "  how  far  would  the  door  to  godlessness  be 
opened  to  numberless  people,  if  this  doctrine,  even 

1  De  libero  arbitrio  ed.  Walter,  la  10,  IV  5,  IV  13. 


ERASMUS  l6l 

if  it  were  true,  were  proclaimed  publicly  and  uni- 
versally! What  weak  man  would  persist  in  the 
constant  and  hard  struggle  against  the  flesh  ? 
What  evil  man  would  endeavor  to  reform  ?  Who 
could  prevail  upon  himself  to  love  a  God  who  pre- 
pared eternal  torments  of  Hell  for  us  in  order  to 
make  unhappy  humanity  atone  for  His  own  evil 
deeds  ?  Surely,  that  would  be  a  cruel  and  unjust 
master  who  would  have  his  slave  scourged  to  death 
because  he  was  not  beautiful  enough  for  him  or  had 
a  crooked  nose  or  some  other  bodily  defect.  Would 
not  the  slave  be  justified  to  say  to  his  master, 
'  Why  must  I  be  punished  for  something  that  I 
cannot  help  ? '  And  Luther  and  his  people 
seemed  to  Erasmus  to  have  carried  the  conception 
of  Original  Sin  to  the  extreme  of  barbarism.  "  They 
exaggerate  Original  Sin  above  all  measure  and 
above  all  bounds;  they  try  to  make  us  believe  that 
the  noblest  powers  of  human  nature  are  so  cor- 
rupted by  it,  that  we  are  incapable  of  anything  but 
misjudging  and  hating  God." 

In  all  this  we  recognize  an  extraordinarily  free 
and  broad  spirit,  a  man  of  a  serene  view  of  the 
world  who  takes  life  as  it  is,  enjoys  its  gay  and 
motley  scenes,  laughs  at  its  vanities  and  follies, 
but  does  not  lose  for  all  that  his  belief  in  humanity; 
but  on  the  contrary,  again  and  again,  reverts  to 


1 62  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  cultivation  of  our  better  self,  of  the  higher 
nature  in  us  as  the  sacred  concern  of  life.  We 
recognize  in  him  the  mixture  of  talents  and  moods 
which  makes  the  true  artist. 

Let  us  see  how  far  Erasmus  has  succeeded  in 
his  two  most  prominent  literary  productions 
"  The  Praise  of  Folly  "  and  "  The  Familiar  Col- 
loquies "  in  creating,  from  this  purely  intellectual 
observation  of  life,  true  works  of  art. 

Those  critics  entirely  misunderstand  the  pecu- 
liarity of  "  The  Praise  of  Folly  "  who  place  this 
brilliant  play  of  humor  on  the  same  level  with  such 
commonplace  invectives  as  Sebastian  Brant's 
"  Ship  of  Fools  "  or  Murner's  "  Fools'  Meadow." 
Brant's  and  Murner's  poems  are  nothing  but  last 
off-shoots  of  medieval  popular  satire;  they  are 
direct  attacks  against  definite  defects  and  abuses 
of  contemporary  society;  poetic  value  they  have 
at  most  here  and  there  in  brisk  characterization  of 
reality.  To  be  sure,  even  "  The  Praise  of  Folly  " 
contains  a  wealth  of  such  satirical  descriptions  of 
reality  and  of  direct  attacks  upon  definite  social 
conditions;  and  it  is  probable  that  just  they  found 
the  greatest  applause  from  the  contemporaries  and 
have  had  the  largest  share  in  the  circulation  of  the 
book  throughout  Europe.  Indeed,  some  of  these 
invectives  have  such  a  pungency,  such  a  penetrat- 


ERASMUS  163 

ing,  merciless  truthfulness  and  such  a  universally 
human  applicability  that  even  today  they  are  sure 
of  their  effect.  Not  only  for  the  man  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  but  for  every  kind  of  bigoted 
churchliness,  of  whatever  tune  and  nationality, 
is  the  fiercely  ironical  judgment  which  Erasmus 
pronounces  over  the  stupid  saint  worship  of  the 
great  multitude.1 

"  Saints  here  and  saints  there,  every  one  for  his 
particular  craft  and  every  one  with  his  particular 
cult.  One  is  good  for  toothache,  another  helps 
women  in  childbed,  a  third  recovers  stolen  articles, 
this  one  saves  from  shipwreck,  that  one  protects 
the  cattle  —  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  But  what  is 
it  that  people  beg  for  from  all  these  saints  ?  Noth- 
ing but  follies.  Among  all  the  votary  offerings 
with  which  the  church  walls  are  hung  up  to  the 
ceiling,  have  you  ever  seen  a  tablet  of  gratitude  for 
someone's  having  escaped  folly  ?  One  has  been 
saved  from  drowning;  another  from  the  dagger  of 
an  enemy;  a  third  one  has  bravely  run  away  from 
the  battlefield;  a  fourth,  through  intercession  of 
the  patron  saint  of  the  thieves,  has  safely  jumped 
down  from  the  gallows;  a  fifth  has  broken  out 
from  prison;  this  one  in  spite  of  his  physician  has 
recovered  from  a  fever;  another  has  not  been  killed 

1  Moriae  Encomium,  Lugd.  Batav,  1648,  pp.  160  ff. 


1 64  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

but  benefited  by  the  poison  given  to  him  by  his 
wife;  still  another,  caught  with  the  wife  of  another, 
has  successfully  outwitted  her  raging  husband  — 
all  these  people  hang  up  their  votary  tablets.  But 
no  one  gives  thanks  for  having  been  cured  of  folly." 
And  of  equal  universality  of  satire  is  the  bitter 
comparison  of  the  teaching  of  Christ  and  the  life 
of  his  Vicar  at  Rome,1  a  comparison  between  ideal 
and  reality  of  social  institutions  which  will  be  re- 
peated again  and  again,  as  long  as  there  are  institu- 
tions needy  of  reform.  "  If  the  pope,  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  were  to  attempt  to  imitate  Christ's  life, 
that  is,  his  poverty,  his  toil,  his  teaching,  his  cross, 
his  scorn  of  the  world,  what  position  hi  the  world 
would  be  more  dreadful  than  that  of  the  pope  ? 
Who  would  then  still  care  to  buy  the  holy  office 
with  endless  treasure  or,  having  bought  it,  try  to 
maintain  it  by  sword  and  poison  and  every  vio- 
lence ?  What  pleasures  and  joys  would  the  pontiff 
forego,  if  he  allowed  wisdom,  nay  even  a  grain  of 
that  salt  of  which  Christ  speaks,  to  have  access  to 
his  court!  What  wealth,  what  honors,  riches,  con- 
quests, taxes,  horses,  mules,  guards  and  all  kinds  of 
luxuries  would  he  lose!  And  in  their  place  he 
would  have  vigils,  prayers,  fasts,  tears,  sermons, 
lectures,  and  a  thousand  other  painful  things.  How 

1  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  282  ff. 


ERASMUS  165 

many  scribes,  copyists,  notaries,  advocates,  pro- 
moters, money-changers,  mule-drivers,  grooms, 
innkeepers  and  disorderly  persons  would  be  driven 
to  starvation!  Inhuman  and  abominable  to  think 
of  such  a  thing!  " 

But  deeply  penetrating  and  universal  as  is  the 
satire  of  this  book,  its  poetic  charm  and  its  intel- 
lectual significance  consist  in  something  else. 
"  The  Praise  of  Folly,"  to  put  it  briefly,  is  the  con- 
fession of  faith  of  a  brilliant  free  thinker,  who  looks 
at  life  without  any  constraint  or  preconceptions, 
who  looks  down  with  a  pitying  smile  upon  "  the 
mob  of  dignitaries  and  wise  men  " 1  and  before 
whose  capricious  and  fantastic  humor  hardly  any- 
thing except  the  wholesome,  instinctive  enjoyment 
of  life  stands  the  test.  It  is  a  chapter  of  romantic- 
ism before  the  romantic  period.  Friedrich  Schlegel 
and  Ludwig  Tieck  must  have  delighted  in  this 
jolly  "  fox  hunt  "  against  Philistinism. 

It  was  a  stroke  of  genius  that  Erasmus  makes 
Folly  her  own  advocate,  that  he  makes  her  propound 
herself  her  own  topsy-turvy  view  of  the  world.  For 
in  the  first  place,  he  reserved  to  himself  thereby  his 
own  final  judgment  and  kept  open  the  way  toward 
his  own  true  ideal  of  the  reign  of  reason.  And  then, 
what  is  more  important,  the  book  gains  thereby, 

1  Loc.  tit.,  p.  25. 


1 66  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

from  the  very  beginning,  an  irresistibly  dramatic 
life.  From  beginning  to  end,  we  rejoice  in  the 
bold,  brilliant  paradoxes  of  the  buoyant  speaker; 
we  hear  the  applause  with  which  she  is  greeted  by 
the  large  audience  as  she  appears  on  the  platform; 
and  we  are  satisfied  at  the  end  that  of  all  the  ad- 
vices contained  in  her  speech  none  will  be  more 
conscientiously  followed  by  her  hearers  than  the 
"Vivite,  bibite!"  "Live,  and  drink!"  with  which 
she  leaves  the  desk. 

"  Do  not  take,  ye  men  "  —  thus  the  serene  wis- 
dom of  this  graceful  and  eloquent  lady,  a  feminine 
forerunner  of  Bernard  Shaw,  might  perhaps  be 
paraphrased  —  "do  not  take  life  so  hopelessly 
seriously  and  deliberately.  What  is  it  after  all  but 
one  long,  divinely  foolish  intoxication  ?  I,  myself, 
the  protectress  and  benefactress  of  humankind, 
have  descended  from  the  Happy  Isles.  Not  as  the 
tiresome  and  prudish  Athene  have  I  sprung  from 
the  brain  of  my  father;  no,  I  am  a  child  of  love's 
frenzy;  laughing  have  I  come  into  the  world  and 
my  parents  were  Riches  and  Youth.  And  the 
same  is  true  of  the  origin  of  all  true  life.  Not 
thought  and  reflection,  but  instinct  and  desire 
lead  to  propagation;  for  what  man  would,  on 
serious  reflection,  take  upon  himself  the  fetters  of 
marriage,  and  what  girl  the  pains  of  motherdom  ? 


ERASMUS  167 

Nay,  as  much  as  they  would  like  to  deny  it,  even 
gray-bearded  philosophers  and  decrepit  monks, 
even  king  and  emperor,  and  bishop  and  pope,  owe 
their  origin  to  the  intoxication  of  a  moment.  And 
all  the  joys  which  life  offers  come  from  the  same 
source.  Why  does  all  the  world  delight  in  a  child's 
face,  why  do  we  fondle  and  caress  and  kiss  the 
little  ones,  but  because  they  don't  know  anything  ? 
What  is  more  repellent  and  disagreeable  than  a 
precocious  and  overwise  child  ?  Wherein  consists 
the  charm  of  youth  but  in  this,  that  it  lives  from 
day  to  day  without  thought  and  care  ?  And 
whence  come  the  furrows,  the  dragging  gait  and 
the  sour  mien  of  riper  age  than  from  this,  that 
thinking  makes  the  blood  sluggish  and  the  limbs 
lagging  ?  Thanks,  therefore,  to  me,  to  Divine 
Folly,  that  in  old  age  I  lead  men  back  to  the 
Fountain  of  Youth  and  hi  oblivion  bestow  on 
them  a  new  life. 

But  even  in  the  midst  of  the  cares  and  duties  of 
middle  life,  it  is  I  who  make  life  at  least  to  some 
extent  tolerable.  For  fortunately,  man  is  only  in 
small  part  intellect  and  in  by  far  the  greatest  part 
instinct  and  feeling;  and  thus  he  tries  over  and 
over  again  to  sweeten  the  dreariness  of  lif e  through 
some  blind  caprice,  some  outright  folly.  Does  not 
love  bless  us  just  because  it  makes  us  blind  ?  Do 


1 68  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

we  not  seek  in  wine  oblivion  from  the  platitudes  of 
work-a-day  life  ?  Does  not  friendship  paint  even 
the  defects  of  our  friends  as  virtues  ?  And  are  not 
all  our  hobbies  a  sort  of  spleen  ?  Are  we  not  proud 
of  our  own  foibles,  errors  and  prejudices  ?  Are  we 
not  fond  of  deceiving  ourselves  by  attributing  to 
our  actions  fine  motives,  by  representing  our  am- 
bition as  sense  of  duty,  our  desire  for  glory  as 
patriotism  ?  But  just  in  all  these  illusions  there 
rests  our  true  happiness;  and  all  the  great  things 
that  are  done  proceed  from  them. 

What  could  be  more  useless  and  delirious  than 
war  ?  The  very  things  which  it  wants  to  accom- 
plish, the  blessings  of  peace,  it  destroys.  And  yet 
war  has  rightly  been  called  the  father  of  all  things. 
For  it  fans  the  great  passions,  it  gives  birth  to  the 
great  deeds  of  history,  it  creates  the  great  men  who 
do  not  reflect  long  whether  they  are  to  act  thus  or 
thus,  but  who  like  Quintus  Curtius,  following  the 
phantom  of  glory,  with  quick  resolution  jump  into 
the  chasm.  And  as  in  war  so  it  goes  in  public  life 
at  large.  Plato  was  wrong  when  he  wanted  to 
entrust  the  conduct  of  state  to  the  philosophers. 
Not  the  wise  man  but  the  ignorant  is  the  born 
leader  of  the  masses,  the  man  of  quick  decision  and 
of  happy  instinct,  who  knows  how  to  get  on  with 
everybody,  is  himself  no  paragon  of  virtue  and 


ERASMUS  169 

does  not  expect  much  from  others,  but  trusts  in 
himself  and  his  luck. 

In  short,  the  less  burdened  by  thought,  the 
lighter,  gayer  and  more  beautiful  is  life.  The  more 
we  follow  only  our  instinct,  the  more  we  approach 
the  Golden  Age,  the  happy  state  of  nature.1  And 
perhaps  —  here  Erasmus  takes  a  sudden  mystic 
turn  —  perhaps  this  is  also  the  only  way  in  which 
we  can  penetrate  into  the  mysteries  of  the  divine. 
For  the  divine  is  not  to  be  reached  by  logic;  the 
sterile  scholasticism  of  our  theologians  proves  this 
sufficiently.  In  order  to  grasp  the  eternal,  the 
invisible,  the  spiritual,  man  must  be  driven  by 
holy  madness.  The  chosen  few  to  whom  this  is 
given  are  as  it  were  beside  themselves,  they  rage 
like  lovers,  they  weep  and  laugh,  are  jubilant  and 
downcast,  fume  and  storm,  until  at  last  they  are  so 
entirely  out  of  their  senses,  that  they  give  them- 
selves up  wholly  to  the  divine  in  inexpressible  bliss.2 
And  this,  then,  is  a  small  foretaste  of  the  future 
heavenly  joys. 

Thus,  then,  through  the  whole  book  there  runs  as 
a  fundamental  thought  the  contrast  between  the 
dry  and  inadequate  intellect  and  the  creative  power 
and  infinite  changeability  of  imagination.  On  the 

1  Loc.  tit.,  pp.  1 20,  125. 
1  Loc.  cit.,  pp.  347  f. 


170  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

one  hand,  conscious  calculation  and  fruitless  labor, 
on  the  other  unconscious  instinct  and  happy  enjoy- 
ment. On  the  one  hand,  perversity  and  artifi- 
ciality, on  the  other  full  and  free  nature.  On  the 
one  hand  the  learned  pedant,  the  heartless  phil- 
istine,  the  kill-joy,  the  hypocritical  formalist, 
the  self-righteous,  friendless,  stone-cold,  inhuman 
paragon  of  virtue; l  on  the  other  the  light-hearted 
artist,  the  joyous  companion,  the  good  comrade, 
the  bold  hero,  the  inspired  enthusiast,  the  amiable 
man  of  feeling,  who  abhors  no  human  weakness 
and  no  human  folly. 

It  is  proof  of  the  extraordinary  breadth  of  Eras- 
mus' view,  that  he,  the  apostle  of  reason,  the  repre- 
sentative of  a  rationalistic  philosophy,  should  at 
the  same  time  have  possessed  so  open  a  mind  for 
the  insufficiency  of  an  exclusively  intellectual  cul- 
ture; that  he,  whose  whole  activity  of  enlighten- 
ment so  often  reminds  us  of  Voltaire,  should  at  the 
same  tune  have  formed  a  conception  of  the  world 
which  in  its  artistic  romanticism  foreshadows  the 
nature  cult  of  Rousseau. 

Predominantly  rationalistic  and  of  unmistak- 
ably didactic  tendency  is  the  other  literary  master- 

1  Marmoreum  hominis  simulacrum,  stupidum  et  ab  omni  prorsus 
humano  sensu  alienum;  he.  cit.,  p.  106. 


ERASMUS  171 

piece  of  Erasmus,  "  The  Familiar  Colloquies," 
that  collection  of  varied  scenes  from  every  day  life 
in  dialogue  form,  which  the  author  began  at  the 
end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  but  brought  to  a  con- 
clusion only  at  the  beginning  of  the  twenties  of  the 
sixteenth.  It  is  curious  that  this  book,  which  ap- 
peared down  into  the  nineteenth  century  in  ever 
new  editions  and  exerted  an  extraordinary  in- 
fluence throughout  Europe,  should  have  become 
almost  unknown  to  our  own  time.  For  it  contains 
the  ripest  fruit  of  Erasmus'  clear,  serene  view  of 
life  and  shows  him  not  infrequently  as  a  master  of 
literary  art.  Indeed,  one  gains  in  these  Erasmian 
colloquies  a  picture  of  the  sixteenth  century  so 
comprehensive,  so  variegated,  so  intimate,  so 
sharply  drawn,  lighted  up  by  such  delightful 
humor,  enlivened  by  such  noble  sentiment,  as  in 
hardly  any  other  work  of  the  time. 

In  part  they  are  mere  genre  pictures,  descriptions 
of  manners  without  obvious  spiritual  tendencies, 
but  just  in  them  the  Erasmian  humor  is  most  ap- 
parent. How  delightful,  for  instance,  is  the  scene 
from  school  life,1  in  which  the  playful  boys  beg  of 
their  morose  teacher  to  give  them  a  holiday,  be- 
cause the  weather  is  so  fine.  How  humorous  is  the 
description  of  the  doings  in  German  inns;2  the 

1  Lusus  pueriles;  ColhquiaFamiliaria,Amstdodani,i6'jg,pp.3g&. 
1  Diversoria;  loc.  cit.,  pp.  214  ff. 


172  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

surly  porter,  who  at  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  puts 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  as  the  turtle  from  its 
shell,  and  without  answering  the  demand  for  a 
lodging  points  with  the  hand  toward  the  stable,  in 
which  every  one  must  put  up  his  own  horse;  the 
stuffy  living  room  in  which  riders  and  pedestrians, 
merchants  and  skippers,  teamsters  and  peasants, 
women  and  children,  healthy  and  sick,  crowd  one 
another,  each  one  attending  to  his  own  needs  and 
in  which,  although  the  air  through  overheating 
and  smells  is  intolerable,  yet  by  no  means  a  window 
must  be  opened;  the  long,  dirty  tables  set  with 
wooden  plates  and  wooden  spoons,  at  which  one 
must  sit  forever  and  wait  until  the  miserable  even- 
ing meal  and  the  sour  home-grown  wine  are  served; 
the  infernal  noise  which  is  set  up,  after  the  supper, 
by  the  drunken  company;  the  Jack  who  silently 
goes  from  table  to  table,  chalking  off  on  each  the 
bill  according  to  the  number  of  guests  sitting  there, 
and  just  as  silently  taking  in  the  cash;  —  all  this 
could  not  be  described  in  a  more  graphic  or  droll 
manner. 

Particularly  happy  is  Erasmus,  whenever  he 
combines  with  this  description  of  real  life  humor- 
ous traits  from  the  traditional  popular  tales,  as 
for  instance,  in  the  "  Apparition,"  the  delightful 
jokes  which  a  jolly  fellow  plays  on  the  superstition 


ERASMUS  173 

of  an  ignorant  priest  believing  in  ghosts;  or  the 
"  Horse  Dealer,"  the  merry  story  of  the  shrewd 
tricks  by  which  a  man  deceived  at  a  horse  deal 
succeeds — like  David  Harum — in  working  off  the 
worthless  nag  on  the  deceitful  seller  at  double 
the  price  he  had  given  for  it. 

In  both  dialogues  the  manner  in  which  Erasmus 
transports  us  at  once  into  the  action  is  remark- 
ably vivid.  In  the  "  Apparition,"  one  of  the  two 
characters  says:1  "You  know  the  farmer,  So- 
and-so,  the  great  rogue,  and  his  farm  near  Lon- 
don ?  "  "  Certainly,  I  have  often  enough  had  a 
glass  with  him."  "  Then  you  remember  the  high- 
road near  by  with  the  two  long  straight  rows  of 
trees  ?  "  "  Certainly,  two  gun-shot  from  the  left 
of  the  house."  "  Just  so,  and  on  one  side  of  the 
high-road  is  a  ditch,  overgrown  with  thorns  and 
bushes,  and  across  the  ditch  there  leads  a  small 
bridge  upon  a  path  into  the  field."  That  now  is 
the  place  where  the  ghost  is  said  to  have  appeared, 
and  in  the  whole  following  account  the  scenery  as 
well  as  the  main  character  of  the  action  stand  most 
distinctly  before  our  eyes.  And  perhaps  still  more 
original  is  the  setting  of  the  other  tale.2  Two 
friends  meet  and  one  of  them  says:  "  Why  so  sober 

1  Exorcismns  sive  Spectrum;  loc.  cit.,  p.  292. 
1  Hippoplanus;  loc.  cit.,  p.  309. 


174  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

and  solemn  ?  "  "  I'm  just  coming  from  confes- 
sion." "  Then  you  have  reeled  off  all  your  sins  ?  " 
"  All  except  one."  "  Why  not  that  one  ?"  "Be- 
cause I'm  so  much  in  love  with  it."  "  That  must 
be  a  charming  sin."  "  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  a 
sin  or  not."  And  now  he  tells  the  tale,  how  he  paid 
back  the  deceitful  horse  dealer  in  his  own  coin; 
and  at  the  end  the  friend  declares  him  not  only  not 
guilty,  but  thinks  that  his  cleverness  is  worthy  of 
a  monument. 

The  true  essence,  however,  of  the  Erasmian 
"  Colloquies  "  does  after  all  not  lie  in  their  mas- 
terly and  sure  representation  of  reality,  but  in  the 
enlightened,  free,  genuinely  human  spirit  which 
animates  them.    In  the  preface  to  the  edition  of 
1526,  Erasmus  defends  himself  against  the  accusa- 
tion that  his  "  Colloquies  "  undermine  morality 
and  the  belief  hi  God.    And,  indeed,  nothing  is 
more  unjust   than   this   accusation,   which  was 
raised  by  the  Sorbonne  as  well  as  Luther  and  many 
other  zealots  of  his  time.    To  be  sure,  of  prudish- 
ness  or  respect  for  established  prejudices  there  is 
not  a  trace  in  this  book.    Erasmus  calls  things  by 
their  names;  he  drags  crimes,  sins  and  foulness  of 
all  sorts  out  into  the  light  of  day;  he  cannot  resist 
pouring  the  vials  of  his  irony  over  stupidity  and 
mediocrity.    But  again  and  again  there  appears, 


ERASMUS  175 

as  the  fundamental  tendency  of  these  varied  pic- 
tures of  life,  the  honest  endeavor  to  widen  the 
horizon,  to  heighten  the  sense  of  true  greatness,  to 
awaken  sympathy  with  genuine  piety,  to  promote 
tolerance,  peaceableness,  self-control,  industry, 
pure  conduct,  innocent  enjoyment,  trust  in  the 
wisdom  and  beneficence  of  Providence.  And  here 
and  there  at  least  this  ideal  of  humanity  finds  a 
truly  remarkable  artistic  expression. 

Seldom  has  monastic  life  been  represented  so 
attractively  or  been  embodied  in  so  fine  and  human 
a  character  as  in  the  dialogue  between  the  Carthu- 
sian monk  and  the  soldier.1  Set  off  against  the 
barbarous  trade  of  war,  with  its  endless  knocking 
about,  its  brutalities  and  excesses,  the  monastery 
appears  here  as  an  abode  of  peace  and  spiritual 
culture.  The  Carthusian  has  not  plunged  into  it 
recklessly  and  headlong  as  into  a  fountain,  but 
after  he  had  come  to  know  the  world  and  scruti- 
nized himself,  he  has  entered  it.  And  now  he  feels 
there  completely  happy.  "  This  place  is  to  me  the 
world,"  he  says,  "  and  from  here  I  may  roam  in 
thought  over  the  whole  globe,  and  travel  more 
comfortably  and  safely  than  those  who  sail  after 
the  newly  discovered  isles.  And  as  to  loneliness  of 
which  you  speak  —  well,  even  the  prophets,  the 

1  Mttitis  et  Carthusiani  Didogus;  loc.  cit.,  pp.  193  ff. 


1 76  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

philosophers,  the  poets,  indeed,  all  men  who  ever 
undertook  anything  great  and  above  the  ordinary, 
retired  from  the  crowd  into  solitude.  And  besides, 
I  have  here  in  my  brethren  as  much  opportunity 
for  intercourse  as  I  want,  and  above  all,  the  best 
company  in  my  books."  "  But  you  in  the  monas- 
tery," answers  the  soldier,  "  place  too  much  value 
in  prayers,  garments,  fastings  and  ceremonies." 
"  It  is  not  for  me,"  says  the  monk,  "  to  judge  what 
others  do;  as  for  myself,  I  put  no  value  in  these 
ceremonies,  but  trust  alone  in  the  purity  of  the  soul 
and  in  Christ."  Now  the  conversation  turns  to- 
ward the  military  trade,  and  again  the  enlightened 
mind  of  the  friar  reveals  itself.  He  asks  the  soldier 
how  he  could  have  justified  to  himself  leaving  his 
young  wife  and  children  and  stooping,  for  miserable 
pay,  to  pillage  and  murder  his  fellow  men.  "  It  is 
right  to  kill  our  enemies,"  says  the  soldier.  "  Per- 
haps then,"  answers  the  Carthusian,  "  when  he 
attacks  your  country.  Then  it  may  appear  pious 
to  fight  for  wife  and  children,  for  parents  and 
friends,  for  altar  and  hearth,  for  the  peace  of  the 
state.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  your  merce- 
nary trade  ?  If  you  had  been  killed  in  this  war, 
I  shouldn't  have  given  a  rotten  nut  to  save  your 
soul." 

If  in  this  colloquy  the  magnanimity  of  Erasmus 
even  toward  the  representatives  of  the  old  church 


ERASMUS  177 

is  shown,  provided  they  evince  an  honest  endeavor 
for  spiritual  independence,  he  draws  in  another 
dialogue,  entitled  "  The  Funeral," x  an  extra- 
ordinarily bold  and  artistically  complete  picture 
of  the  stupidity,  greed  and  hypocrisy  of  the  ruling 
churchdom,  contrasting  with  it  the  noble  humanity 
of  his  own  belief. 

The  subject  is  the  death  bed  and  the  funeral  of 
two  very  different  men.  The  one  is  a  former  cap- 
tain of  mercenaries,  who  has  amassed  a  pretty  for- 
tune in  war,  is  entirely  correct  in.  church  matters, 
and  therefore  belongs  to  the  pillars  of  society. 
Now  he  is  dying.  The  physicians  have  given  him 
up,  but  are  still  carrying  on  a  heated  dispute,  in  the 
death  chamber,  over  the  diagnosis  of  the  disease, 
and  finally  force  the  patient  to  consent  that  there 
shall  be  an  autopsy.  Now  the  physicians  are  re- 
placed by  the  clergy,  who  press  around  the  bed  in 
large  numbers.  They,  too,  get  at  once  into  con- 
flict with  each  other,  like  vultures  gathering  around 
the  carcass.  A  horrible  scene  is  now  enacted.  No 
attention  is  paid  to  the  dying  man  or  his  family; 
the  only  concern  of  these  holy  men  is  to  squeeze  out 
of  him  as  much  as  possible.  In  the  first  place,  the 
local  priest  and  the  begging  friars  have  a  squabble. 
The  priest  insists  that  the  dying,  who  has  just  con- 

1  Funus;  loc.  tit.,  pp.  439  ff. 


178  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

fessed  to  the  friars,  should  again  confess  to  him; 
he  is  treated  for  this  by  his  rivals  to  the  vilest 
insults,  and  pays  them  back  with  like  defamations. 
Finally,  the  patient  puts  a  stop  to  the  loathsome 
altercation  by  promising  the  priest  to  pay  in  ad- 
vance all  the  fees  for  the  last  sacramental  rites,  the 
tolling  of  the  bell  and  the  funeral.  Scarcely  has 
this  been  settled,  when  a  still  wilder  dispute  arises 
between  the  individual  orders;  for  now  it  is  the 
question  of  the  will,  and  every  one  of  the  five  orders 
wants  of  course  to  snap  up  the  fattest  portion. 
Again  there  ensue  the  most  violent  accusations  and 
counter-accusations,  the  most  miserable  haggling 
and  bargaining,  and  again  the  patient  must  beg  for 
peace,  and  satisfy  the  shameless  greed  of  the  holy 
men  by  submitting  to  all  their  demands.  His  own 
family  fare  worst  in  the  will;  all  five  orders  are  well 
provided  for;  most  bountifully,  however,  the 
Franciscans  and  Dominicans.  Now  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  funeral  are  made,  and  again  there 
arise  exhilarating  discussions  about  precedence  and 
rank  of  the  individual  orders  and  clericals  in  the 
procession.  Then  the  pompous  monument,  which 
is  to  be  erected  to  the  noble  lord,  is  arranged  for 
in  detail.  And  now  at  last  he  may  die,  but  even 
that  not  undisturbed.  He  is  clothed  in  a  monk's 
cowl;  and  while  he  is  lying  in  his  last  gasps,  a  Fran- 


ERASMUS  179 

ciscan  shouts  into  his  right  ear  and  a  Dominican 
into  the  left. 

How  died  the  other  man  whom  this  dialogue 
depicts  ?  He  died  as  he  lived,  without  ado  and 
without  giving  any  one  any  trouble.  Years  ago  he 
had  made  his  will;  legacies  for  monasteries  and 
churches  there  were  none.  "  For,"  he  used  to  say, 
"  I've  given  as  much  in  my  life-tune  to  public 
charities  as  was  in  my  power.  And  now  that  I 
leave  my  property  to  my  people,  I  leave  to  them 
also  the  disposal  thereof,  and  hope  that  they  will 
make  a  better  use  of  it  than  I  have  done."  No 
priest  attended  him  in  his  dying  hour  (confession 
and  last  unction  had  been  performed  a  few  days 
before);  only  his  family  and  two  trusted  friends 
were  at  his  side.  He  had  refused  tolling  of  bells 
and  solemn  funeral.  With  simple  words  he  took 
leave  from  his  wife  and  children.  "  If  you  should 
marry  again,  my  beloved  wife,"  he  said  —  at  these 
words  the  wife  broke  into  tears  and  vowed  that  she 
would  never  think  of  it;  but  he  continued,  and 
assured  her  that  she  should  not  consider  herself 
bound  to  him  under  all  circumstances;  only  she 
should  not  forget  what  duties  she  had  for  her 
children,  and  especially  she  should  see  to  it  that  the 
children  would  not  choose  too  early  a  definite 
calling,  but  wait  until  they  were  experienced 


l8o  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

enough  to  make  a  really  suitable  decision.  Then 
he  kissed  wife  and  children,  prayed  for  them,  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  over  them,  and  commended 
them  to  the  mercy  of  Christ.  At  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  he  had  a  psalm  read  to  him  and  asked  for 
cross  and  candle.  And  after  he  had  taken  the 
candle  hi  his  hand  and  kissed  the  cross,  he  laid  his 
hands  over  his  breast  hi  prayer  and  said,  his  eyes 
raised  to  heaven,  "  Lord  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit." 
And  he  closed  his  eyes  and  went  to  sleep. 

Finally,  a  scene  from  the  "Apotheosis  of  Reuch- 
lin,"  l  the  dialogue  in  which  Erasmus  vies  with 
the  art  of  a  Memlinc  or  Bouts  in  the  representation 
of  a  heavenly  idyll,  but  at  the  same  tune  embodies 
his  own  ideals  of  free  and  fearless  inquiry  in  the 
character  of  his  humanist  friend  and  fellow  soldier. 

For  some  time  they  have  known  in  Tuebingen 
that  the  old  scholar  is  ill,  and  one  fears  for  his  life. 
Then  a  pious  Franciscan  in  the  town  at  early  morn- 
ing after  the  matin  has  the  following  dream.  "  It 
seemed  to  me,"  he  says,  "  I  was  standing  by  a 
bridge,  which  led  to  a  wondrous  meadow.  Leaves 
and  grass  shone  in  emerald  green.  The  flowers 
sparkled  like  stars.  Everything  exhaled  fragrance 
round  about.  And  the  fields  this  side  of  the  brook 
which  separated  me  from  the  meadow  seemed  dead 

1  Apotheosis  Capnionis;  loc.  cit.,  pp.  147  ff. 


ERASMUS  l8l 

and  withered  in  comparison.  While  I  was  still  lost 
in  this  glory,  Reuchlin  passed  by  me,  and  offered 
me  greetings  in  Hebrew.1  He  had  already  passed 
the  middle  of  the  bridge,  when  I  noticed  him;  and 
when  I  wanted  to  hasten  after  him,  he  bade  me 
remain.  '  Not  yet,'  he  said.  '  Five  years  from 
now,  follow  me.  Meanwhile  remain  here  as  spec- 
tator and  witness  of  what  happens.'  He  wore  a 
white  garment,  strangely  translucent,  and  a  charm- 
ing boy  with  wings  followed  him.  But  behind  him 
at  a  distance  there  hopped  black  birds  like  magpies, 
but  as  large  as  vultures,  with  feathered  tufts  on 
their  heads  and  with  crooked  beaks  and  claws,  and 
fat  bellies.2  They  cawed  and  screamed  at  the 
sturdy  knight,  Reuchlin,  and  feigned  to  attack  him. 
But  he  turned  around  toward  them  and  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross  and  spoke :  '  Get  ye  hence,  ye  ugly 
monsters.  Off  with  you  where  you  belong.  You 
have  enough  to  do  on  earth,  your  rage  has  no 
power  over  me  here  in  eternity.'  Scarcely  had  he 
said  this,  when  the  ugly  birds  flew  away,  leaving 
a  frightful  stench  behind  them.  But  already 
Saint  Jerome 3  approached  the  bridge  and  greeted 

1  The  language  to  the  study  of  which  he  had  devoted  his  life. 

2  Types  of  the  monkish  detractors  and  enemies  of  Reuchlin. 

3  Reuchlin's   forerunner   and   intellectual   associate   in   biblical 
editorship. 


1 82  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Reuchlin  with  the  words:  '  Welcome,  saintly  com- 
panion. I  am  commissioned  to  lead  you  into  the 
heavenly  dwellings  of  the  blessed,  which  the  good- 
ness of  God  has  ordained  for  you  as  a  reward  for 
your  pious  endeavors.'  The  whole  field  swarmed 
with  myriads  of  angels,  who  filled  the  air  like  sun- 
beams. Jerome  embraced  Reuchlin  and  led  him  to 
a  hill  in  the  middle  of  the  meadow.  On  the  summit 
of  the  hill  they  kissed  each  other,  and  then  the 
heavens  opened  above  their  heads  hi  boundless  dis- 
tance, and  an  inexpressible  glory  floated  down, 
like  a  mighty  transparent  column  of  fire.  In  it  the 
two  saints,  embracing  each  other,  ascended  to 
heaven,  and  the  angels  sang  together."  "  So 
then,"  exclaim  the  friends  in  whose  circle  this 
vision  is  told,  "  so  then  let  us  receive  the  great  man 
into  our  calendar  of  saints.  Let  us  place  him  in 
the  chapel  next  to  the  most  illustrious  of  the  mar- 
tyrs. In  the  service  of  science  he  has  suffered  many 
persecutions  from  evil  men  and  hypocritical  scribes, 
but  now  he  is  reaping  the  fruits  of  the  seed  which 
he  has  sown.  His  death  we  cannot  bemoan;  for  he 
has  left  us  precious  monuments  of  his  life,  and  his 
works  have  dedicated  his  name  to  immortality." 

May  we  not  apply  these  words  to  Erasmus  him- 
self ?  May  we  not  say  of  him  that  in  his  "  Praise 
of  Folly  "  and  in  the  "  Familiar  Colloquies  "  he 


ERASMUS  183 

has  left  us  works  of  art,  of  truly  liberating,  purify- 
ing power  ?  Works  of  art  which  will  retain  their 
value,  as  long  as  there  is  any  need  of  continuing  the 
warfare  for  a  rational  view  of  the  world  and  for  a 
society  worthy  of  mankind. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  HUMANIST  REVOLT:  ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN 

RECENT  German  criticism  is  inclined  to  un- 
dervalue the  services  rendered  by  Ulrich  von 
Hutten  to  the  cause  of  German  culture.  Friedrich 
Paulsen  in  his  "  History  of  Higher  Education  in 
Germany  "  calls  Hutten's  whole  humanist  propa- 
ganda a  bombastic  masquerade.1  Friedrich  von 
Bezold  in  his  "  History  of  the  Reformation  "  dis- 
misses Hutten's  plan  for  a  reorganization  of  Church 
and  State  as  fantastic  dreams.2  And  nearly  every 
writer  on  Luther  and  his  work  contrasts  with  the 
deep  and  invincible  faith  of  the  Wittenberg  monk 
and  his  irresistible  pressing  on  from  fight  to  fight 
the  wayward,  meteoric  and  fruitless  career  of  the 
unbelieving  and  sceptical  partisan  of  humanism. 

It  is  my  purpose  to  vindicate  Hutten's  activity, 
to  show  that  his  political  ideals  were  by  no  means 
intrinsically  unconstructive  and  that,  if  he  failed 
in  his  work,  if  his  cause  was  vanquished,  there 
might  be  said  of  him  what  the  ancient  poet  said 

1  Geschichte  des  gelehrten  Unterrichts  i,  pp.  86  ff. 
*  Geschichte  der  deutschen  Reformation,  pp.  2842. 
184 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  185 

of  the  unsuccessful  opponent  of  Caesar:  "  Victrix 
causa  Deis  placuit,  sed  victa  Catoni." 

In  Ulrich  von  Hutten's  personality  German 
humanism  gains  its  most  ravishing  and  irresistible 
expression;  in  him  the  Erasmian  enlightenment 
turns  into  a  revolutionary  power,  which  shakes  the 
foundations  of  existence.  They  misjudge  Hutten's 
innermost  being,  who  consider  him  above  all  as  an 
ally  of  the  Lutheran  reformation.  Hutten  himself 
saw  in  Luther  the  ally  and  champion  of  his  own 
humanist  cause;  he  saw  in  him  the  destroyer  of 
hierarchy,  the  deliverer  of  the  German  people  from 
the  Romish  yoke.  He  would  have  been  the  last  to 
submit  to  a  new  religious  dogma  as  preached  by  the 
Wittenberg  party.  His  aim  was  the  political  and 
intellectual  reconstruction  of  Germany.  Abolition 
of  the  monasteries,  confiscation  of  church  property, 
secularization  of  the  schools  and  the  higher  institu- 
tions of  learning,  safe-guarding  of  free  thought  and 
free  inquiry,  centralization  of  the  empire,  limita- 
tion of  the  power  of  the  territorial  princes,  utiliza- 
tion of  the  knighthood  and  the  citizen  class  for  the 
formation  of  a  powerful  German  army  —  these 
were  the  practical  ideals  which  fired  his  reforma- 
tory passion.  Perhaps  these  thoughts  were 
doomed  from  the  beginning  to  remain  unrealized. 
Perhaps  the  centrifugal  development  of  Germany 


1 86  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

during  the  preceding  centuries  had  made  a  radical 
reconstruction  of  the  imperial  power  impossible. 
Perhaps  the  German  masses  were  not  yet  ripe  for 
the  adoption  of  a  rationalistic  view  of  life,  although 
Zwingli's  reformatory  activity  in  Switzerland  has 
been  a  valid  testimony  to  the  capacity  of  human- 
ism even  for  ecclesiastical  organization.  Perhaps 
the  German  knighthood  was  the  least  fitting  in- 
strument of  national  rejuvenation.  And,  surely, 
all  these  plans  were  wrecked  by  the  fact  that  of  the 
two  German  emperors  of  Hutten's  time  the  fan- 
tastic Maximilian  lacked  the  power,  and  the  un- 
German  Charles  the  Fifth  the  least  disposition  to 
carry  them  through.  But  are  they  on  that  account 
less  remarkable  or  less  worthy  of  the  admiration 
of  a  posterity  which  has  seen  their  fulfillment,  not 
to  be  sure  in  the  form  which  Hutten  hoped  for  ? 
Hutten  remains  in  spite  of  all  his  errors  and  defects 
one  of  Germany's  heroes.  It  remains  a  pathetic 
story  how  this  man,  thrust  out  a  mere  boy  into  a 
friendless  world,  tossed  about  in  poverty,  toil,  and 
youthful  excesses,  early  afflicted  and  tortured  for 
years  by  a  hideous  disease,  placed  entirely  upon  his 
own  resources,  driven  about  in  fruitless  struggles 
and  adventures,  —  steadfastly  adheres  to  his  ideals 
of  country  and  liberty,  preaches  for  them  with 
flaming  eloquence,  works  with  restless  activity  for 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  187 

their  realization,  is  never  for  a  moment  doubtful  of 
himself,  dedicates  himself  unreservedly  to  his 
cause,  and  finally  at  thirty-five  years  of  age  physi- 
cally exhausted  and  politically  annihilated,  but 
inwardly  unbroken,  meets  death  in  exile.  And  it 
remains  an  honor  to  Zwingli  that,  while  Erasmus 
as  well  as  Luther  finally  shook  off  the  impetuous 
and  uncompromising  fighter,  the  Swiss  reformer 
was  large-minded  enough  to  offer  him,  as  a  soldier 
of  freedom,  a  last  refuge. 

Hutten  has  expressed  himself  about  his  practical 
relations  to  life  perhaps  most  emphatically  in  two 
letters  to  friends — the  letter  with  which  in  1514  he 
sends  to  Crotus  Rubeanus,  the  principal  author  of 
the  "Epistolae  Obscurorum  Virorum,"  his  humor- 
ous poem  "Nemo"  (The  Nobody);  and  the  letter 
of  October,  1518,  to  the  Niirnberg  patrician  and 
humanist,  Willibald  Pirkheimer,  in  which  he  justi- 
fies himself  for  his  accepting  a  position  at  the  court 
of  the  archbishop  of  Mainz. 

In  the  former  letter1  Hutten  appears  as  the 
champion  of  a  free,  entirely  unrestrained  literary 
life.  It  had  been  the  impulse  for  spiritual  inde- 
pendence, for  struggle  with  fate,  for  adventurous 
tests  of  power  and  for  a  full  living  out  of  himself, 
which  had  driven  the  sixteen-year  old  youth  to 

1  Hut  ten  i  Opera  ed.  Booking  i,  175  ff. 


1 88  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

flight  from  the  cloister-school  in  Fulda,  and  then  to 
vagrant  journeyings  from  one  German  and  Italian 
university  to  another,  and  finally  into  service  in  the 
imperial  army  in  Italy,  Without  having  brought 
his  studies  to  a  conclusion,  without  title  and  office, 
full  of  contempt  for  theological  and  legal  pseudo- 
science,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  humanist  ideals 
of  life,  he  had,  in  1514,  returned  home.  Instead  of 
being  welcomed  after  so  long  an  absence,  he  relates 
to  Crotus,  he  was  treated  by  his  family  as  a  degen- 
erate, as  a  man  who  had  wasted  his  time  and  not 
accomplished  anything,  as  a  "  Nothing,"  a  "  No- 
body." These  mocking  designations  Hutten 
accepts  as  a  title  of  honor.  "  Yes,"  he  says,  "  if 
to  be  something  means  to  acquire  a  degree  of  mas- 
ter or  doctor,  if  you  are  nothing  until  you  stoop 
to  take  part  in  the  farce  of  learned  nonsense,  if  it 
is  not  a  question  what  kind  of  a  man  you  are  but 
whether  you  have  learned  the  tricks  of  rabulistic 
perverters  of  law,  or  the  hair-splitting  dialectics  of 
hypocritical  theologians,  then  I  will  rather  not 
have  learned  anything,  I  will  rather  remain  a 
"Nothing"  and  a  "  Nobody."  For  a  man  proves 
himself  in  the  struggle  with  life  and  in  the  free  ser- 
vice of  the  muses;  and  nothing  shall  induce  me  to 
swerve  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  striving  after  this 
genuine  humanity,  unfalsified  by  empty  formulas 
and  hollow  names." 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  189 

If  this  letter  reveals  the  Faust-like  craving  of  the 
Renaissance  man  for  free  individuality,  we  recog- 
nize in  the  letter  to  Pirkheimer l  the  other  side  of 
Hutten:  his  passionate  desire  to  accomplish  some- 
thing worthy,  for  humanity  and  above  all  for  his 
country.  In  the  meantime  he  had  gamed  oppor- 
tunity for  activity  on  a  larger  scale  as  well  as 
recognition  from  his  sympathizers.  Against  the 
foreign  enemies  of  the  empire,  especially  Venice, 
France,  and  the  Pope,  he  had  sounded  a  call  in  his 
epigrams  addressed  to  Emperor  Maximilian.  He 
had  attacked  in  weighty  philippics  the  Duke  Ulrich 
of  Wuertemberg,  the  murderer  of  his  own  cousin, 
Hans  von  Hutten,  as  a  disturber  of  the  inner  peace, 
and  had  appealed  especially  to  the  knighthood  to 
help  in  annihilating  the  "  tyrant."  He  had  con- 
tributed his  share  to  Crotus'  "Epistolae  Obscuro- 
rum  Virorum,"2  and  here  he  had  contrasted  with 
monkish  stupidity  and  sloth  his  ideals  of  free  and 
enlightened  humanism.  By  editing  Lorenzo  Valla's 
"  Constantine  Donation,"  and  by  its  ironical 
dedication  to  Leo  X,  he  had,  in  1517,  struck  his 
first  great  blow  against  the  papacy.  He  himself 
had  in  the  same  year  at  Augsburg  been  crowned 
poet  laureate  by  Emperor  Maximilian,  had  then 

1  Loc,  cit.,  pp.  195  ff. 

2  Namely  the  Appendix  to  the  first  part  and  all  of  the  second 
part. 


190  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

entered  the  service  of  the  liberal-minded  arch- 
bishop of  Mainz  and  had  prepared  for  the  Augs- 
burg diet  of  1518  a  flaming  address  in  which  he 
exhorted  the  German  princes  to  unity  and  to  the 
granting  of  means  for  a  war  against  the  Turks.  All 
these  things  re-echo  in  the  letter  to  his  friend 
Pirkheimer  of  October,  1518,  in  which  he  justifies 
himself  for  his  entering  politics  and  court  life.  It 
is  clear  from  this  letter:  Hutten  now  feels  himself 
a  public  leader,  a  representative  of  Germany,  a 
champion  of  national  culture,  honor,  and  freedom. 
He  recalls  to  mind  Pirkheimer's  own  example,  his 
many-sided  public  activity,  the  highly  developed 
public  life  of  his  native  town,  Nurnberg,  which, 
Hutten  says,  had  led  not  only  to  the  highest  de- 
velopment of  industry  and  commerce,  but  had 
also  offered  room  for  the  scientific  and  literary 
endeavors  of  a  Regiomontanus  and  Celtes  and  for 
the  brilliant  creations  of  the  German  Apelles 
as  he  called  him:  Albrecht  Diirer.  What  Pirk- 
heimer and  his  like  had  done  for  the  cities  he, 
Hutten,  —  so  he  answers  Pirkheimer  —  was  try- 
ing to  do  for  his  own  class,  the  knighthood.  The 
knighthood,  he  tells  us,  unfortunately,  still  lacked 
the  consciousness  of  its  high,  spiritual  tasks,  it  was 
entirely  absorbed  in  economic  struggles  and  petty 
feuds.  Therefore,  it  was  his  ambition  to  make 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  191 

clear  to  his  class  that  true  nobility  must  be  ac- 
quired by  service,  and  to  give  them  in  himself  an 
example  of  genuine  class  honor  and  of  knightly 
championship  of  national  affairs.  "  May  it  fare  ill 
with  me,  Willibald,  if  I  think  myself  a  noble  unless 
I  have  made  myself  so  by  work.  And  let  me  not  be 
contented  with  what  I  have  inherited  from  my 
ancestors,  but  let  me  add  something  to  it  which  by 
me  will  be  bequeathed  to  posterity." l  The  tune 
is  ripe,  he  thinks;  not  a  few  of  the  princes  are  in- 
clined to  further  the  new  culture.  Through  enter- 
ing their  services,  the  nobility  might  again  become 
a  power  for  progress.  For  him  personally  such  a 
practical  participation  in  the  affairs  of  public  life 
is  an  inner  necessity.  He  has  not  yet  tamed  him- 
self, not  yet  calmed  his  youthful  fire,  not  yet  done 
enough  to  give  himself  over  to  scholarly  leisure. 
But  even  in  the  unrest  and  the  distractions  of  court 
life  he  will  never  cease  to  belong  to  himself.  "  I 
shall  always  be  Hutten  and  never  be  found  a 
traitor  to  myself."  Never  will  he  allow  fate  the 
control  of  his  soul,  always  will  he  consider  the 

1  Ut  non  ex  imaginariis  illis  nobilibus  tantum  censear  aut  eo  quod  a 
maioribus  meis  accepi  contentus  sim,  verum  aliquid  ad  istas  dotes 
quod  a  me  in  posteros  proficiscatur  adiecisse  videar;  loc.  cit.,  p.  208. 
The  parallelism  between  these  words  and  Goethe's 
Was  du  ererbt  von  deinen  Vatem  hast 
•  Erwirb  es  urn  es  zu  besitzen 

is  obvious. 


192  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

struggle  for  humanism  as  the  sacred  concern  of 
the  tune  and  call  himself  happy  that  he  has  been 
chosen  to  take  part  in  the  struggle.  "  0  century, 
O  arts,  it  is  a  joy  to  live  and  not  to  rest,  my 
Willibald.  The  studies  are  flourishing,  the  spirit 
is  awake.  Barbarism,  accept  the  yoke  and  sub- 
mit to  exile! " 

Since  the  days  of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  no 
German  had  proclaimed  as  emphatically  as  Hutten 
did  hi  these  two  letters,  the  union  of  spiritual  inde- 
pendence with  unselfish  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
country  as  the  ideal  of  manly  activity.  During 
the  five  years  which  now  were  left  to  him  he  en- 
deavored with  restless  energy  and  with  heroic 
exertion  of  his  whole  personality  to  realize  this 
ideal  and  to  make  it,  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  a 
means  of  destruction  of  medieval  theocracy  and 
to  found  on  it  a  new  German  public  consciousness. 
These  five  years  from  1519  to  1523  contain  the 
writings  of  Hutten  which  show  him  at  his  height 
and  associate  him  with  the  greatest  German  pub- 
licists of  all  tunes. 

When  we  recall  what  Hutten  hi  these  years 
experienced,  planned,  strove  for  and,  accomplished 
we  cannot  escape,  quite  apart  from  the  cause 
which  he  represents,  the  impression  of  human 
greatness. 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  193 

The  mere  extent  and  range  of  his  activity  during 
these  years  is  astounding,  all  the  more  so  when  we 
remember  that  the  curse  of  his  life,  the  frightful 
disease  to  which  he  finally  was  to  succumb  in  spite 
of  transient  and  apparent  recovery,  continued  to 
prey  upon  him  during  this  whole  time,  constantly 
broke  out  afresh,  and  again  and  again  prostrated 
him.  In  the  spring  of  1519,  he  exchanges  court  life 
once  more  for  his  inherited  knightly  craft;  he  takes 
part  in  the  expedition  of  the  Swabian  alliance 
against  his  old  foe,  Duke  Ulrich  of  Wuertemberg. 
Then  he  settles  for  a  few  months  in  his  ancestral 
castle,  Steckelberg,  establishes  there  his  own  print- 
ing press  and  sends  out  from  there  his  last  phil- 
ippics against  Ulrich,  which  instinctively  turn  into 
a  paean  of  victory  over  the  hated  tyrant,  at  last 
defeated.  In  April,  1520,  he  publishes  that  first 
collection  of  martial  dialogues  in  which,  anticipat- 
ing Luther's  revolutionary  manifestoes  by  several 
months,  he  incites  the  German  laity  to  a  complete 
break  with  Rome  and  to  extinction  of  the  whole 
clerical  system.  In  June  of  the  same  year,  he  goes 
to  Brussels  in  order  to  win  Archduke  Ferdinand, 
the  brother  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  for  his  plans  of 
nationalizing  the  German  church.  Without  having 
found  a  hearing,  he  must  take  leave.  On  the  home 
journey,  he  learns  that  a  papal  edict  has  been  sent 


194  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

against  him  in  which  his  former  master,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Mainz,  is  requested  to  proceed  against 
him  on  account  of  his  "  scandalous  machinations." 
Then  he  accepts  the  refuge  which  his  friend,  Franz 
von  Sickingen,  offers  him  in  his  castle,  the  Ebern- 
burg  near  Kreuznach,  and  from  this  "  shelter  of 
justice  "  he  displays  again,  during  the  last  third  of 
1520  and  the  larger  part  of  1521,  the  most  intensely 
revolutionary  propaganda.  He  turns  to  Emperor 
Charles  and  adjures  him  to  stop  the  papal  inso- 
lence; he  turns  to  the  Elector,  Frederick  the  Wise 
of  Saxony  and  admonishes  him  of  his  duty  at  the 
head  of  the  German  princes  to  succor  the  country's 
freedom  and  welfare;  he  turns  to  Germans  of  all 
classes  and  calls  upon  them  "  to  drive  from  the 
country  the  godless  pardon-mongers,  the  impious 
dealers  in  dispensations,  absolutions  and  all  sorts  of 
bulls,  who  had  turned  the  holy  church  of  God  into 
a  grocery  shop."  He  edits  the  papal  bull  against 
Luther  with  ironical  comments;  in  a  poetical  lam- 
entation over  the  burning  of  Luther's  writings  at 
Mainz,  the  earliest  of  his  German  poems,  he  ad- 
dresses Luther  as  his  "  dearest  brother "  and 
places  himself  life  and  limb  at  his  disposal.  In  the 
"  Lament  and  Exhortation  against  the  excessive 
un-Christian  Power  of  the  Bishop  of  Rome  and  the 
unministerial  Ministers,"  he  calls  upon  his  coun- 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  195 

trymen  to  take  to  arms.  He  translates  his  Latin 
dialogues  into  German  and  adds  to  them  pithy  and 
stirring  prefatory  verses;  and  at  the  same  time  he 
publishes  a  new  series  of  warlike  dialogues,  in  spite 
of  their  Latin  form  of  truly  popular  power.  He 
follows  from  Sickingen's  castle  the  Diet  of  Worms 
with  feverish  interest,  he  sends  to  Luther  words  of 
unreserved  admiration  and  assurances  of  unquali- 
fied faith  ("  My  affairs  are  human,  you  dwell 
entirely  in  the  divine,");1  he  hurls  invectives 
against  the  papal  delegates,  against  the  cardinals, 
bishops  and  abbots  assembled  in  Worms,  and  ad- 
dresses patriotic  exhortations  to  the  Emperor.  And 
finally,  when  the  imperial  edict  against  Luther  has 
been  issued,  he  seeks  a  last  means  for  saving  the 
country  in  an  offensive  alliance  of  the  knighthood 
and  the  cities.  In  the  fatal  campaign  of  Sickingen's 
against  the  Archbishop  of  Treves,  which  hi  1522 
leads  to  the  breakdown  of  all  of  Hutten's  hopes  and 
plans,  we  lose  trace  of  him,  until  he  reappears  as  a 
fugitive  in  Switzerland.  But  even  the  hunted  and 
exhausted  fugitive  rallies,  in  the  controversy  with 
Erasmus,  to  a  last  passage  at  arms  for  the  Lutheran 
cause,  and  the  dying  one  gives  to  his  people  in  the 
resuscitated  figure  of  Arminius,  the  destroyer  of 
the  Roman  legions  in  the  Teutoburg  Forest,  a  new 
national  hero. 

1  Loc.  cii.,  ii,  55. 


196  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  keynote  of  all  these  war  manifestoes  is  a 
boundless,  imperturbable  trust  in  the  cause  of 
truth,  and  the  unbending  will  to  carry  it  to  victory 
or  to  die  for  it.  It  was  no  mere  phrase  when  from 
the  Ebernburg  he  writes  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony: l 
"  Would  to  God  that  either  you  (the  princes)  who 
have  the  power  had  the  will,  or  I  had  the  power,  as 
I  have  the  will.  But  if  I  cannot  move  you  nor  else- 
where stir  a  fire,  I  shall  at  least  do  what  I  can  ac- 
complish alone.  I  shall  do  nothing  unworthy  of  a 
brave  knight,  I  shall  never,  as  long  as  I  have  my 
senses,  swerve  one  step  from  my  undertaking;  you, 
however,  if  I  should  see  you  deviate  from  manly 
firmness,  I  shall  pity.  I  can  die,  but  I  cannot  be  a 
slave,  nor  can  I  see  Germany  enslaved.  I  hope  the 
best  from  you;  therefore  I  have  written  to  you  a 
freeman  to  a  freeman.  Farewell  and  be  a  man." 
His  own  ideal  of  a  man  he  has  expressed  in 
the  "New  Year's  Wishes"  with  which  he  sends 
his  German  dialogues  to  Franz  von  Sickingen:2 
"  And  I  wish  you,  not  as  we  often  wish  our  friends, 
an  agreeable  and  enjoyable  leisure,  but  plenty  of 
serious,  hard,  and  strenuous  work,  by  which,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  many,  you  may  exercise  and  test 
your  own  proud  and  heroic  mind."  And  from  his 

1  Loc.  tit.,  i,  398  f. 
1  Loc.  cit.,  i,  449. 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  197 

innermost  heart  there  came  the  thrilling  words 
with  which  he  introduces  these  dialogues  to  the 
reader:1  glorying  in  the  rebirth  of  truth;  conse- 
crating himself  to  its  defence;  defying  all  the 
powers  of  darkness,  papal  excommunication  and 
imperial  proscription;  asking  God's  blessing  for 
his  pious  mother  in  her  care  and  anxiety  for  his 
fate;  and  winding  up  with  the  exultant  "  Ich  hab's 
gewagt! " 

Hutten's  was  not  a  deep  or  a  speculative  nature. 
All  mysticism,  all  religious  fervor  were  foreign  to 
him.  Not  like  the  great  medieval  mystics,  not 
like  Luther,  did  he  want  to  serve  the  cause  of  God; 
but,  like  the  ancients,  he  wished  to  accomplish 
great  things  and  thereby  leave  his  name  to  pos- 
terity. But  that  he  was  thoroughly  in  earnest  in 
his  attempt  to  make  rationalism  the  basis  of  life, 
that  he  hoped  from  the  victory  of  humanism  the 
dawn  of  a  new  era  of  national  culture  for  his  father- 
land, and  longed  for  it  with  the  whole  glow  of  his 
passionate  soul,  words  like  those  quoted  are  a 
sufficient  proof,  even  apart  from  his  whole  life 
entirely  devoted  to  this  one  idea. 

And  must  we  not  admit  that  Hutten  was  indeed 
the  representative  of  a  higher  culture  ?  Apart 
from  Crotus'  "Epistolae,"  Erasmus'  "Colloquies" 

1  Loc.  cit.,  450. 


198  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

and  Luther's  manifestoes  and  hymns,  what  has 
German  literature  produced  in  those  first  hopeful 
years  of  the  Reformation  that  reveals  such  inner 
strength  and  truthfulness,  such  a  wide  horizon, 
such  a  free  sweep  of  artistic  form  as  Hutten's 
Dialogues?  Among  the  whole  mass  of  polemics 
called  forth  through  Luther's  first  stand  against 
Rome  nothing  comes  near  them.  To  be  sure,  a 
fresh  breath  of  wholesome  life  goes  through  the 
polemic  dramas  of  a  Pamphilus  Gengenbach  and 
Niklas  Manuel.  Certainly,  the  flood  of  peasant 
and  bourgeois  pasquils  and  satire  let  loose  by  the 
struggle  against  Rome  has  something  overpower- 
ing in  its  elementary  fury  and  recklessness.  And 
even  the  principal  leaders  of  the  Romish  party, 
such  as  Thomas  Murner  or  Hieronymus  Emser, 
did  by  no  means  lack  power  of  persuasion  and 
honesty  of  conviction.  But  how  crude  and  un- 
couth on  the  one  hand,  how  limited  and  reactionary 
on  the  other  does  all  this  appear  when  we  contrast 
it  with  the  sharply  chiselled  form  and  the  free 
grand  spirit  of  Hutten's  Dialogues.  Here,  indeed, 
there  is  a  man  who,  like  Erasmus,  has  assimilated 
the  best  of  ancient  culture,  the  high  conception  of 
human  dignity,  but  who  is  not,  like  Erasmus,  con- 
tent to  cultivate  and  spread  this  spiritual  refine- 
ment but  is  driven  by  the  impulse  to  rejuvenate 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  199 

and  reconstruct  thereby  the  whole  order  of  society. 
Justly  David  Friedrich  Strauss  has  pointed  out 1 
that  it  is  this  youthful  impulse  of  reform  which  so 
emphatically  distinguishes  Hutten's  Dialogues  from 
their  formal  prototype,  the  dialogues  of  the  bril- 
liant, but  cool  and  blase*  Lucian.  At  the  same  time, 
in  spite  of  all  his  zeal  for  the  common  cause,  Hut- 
ten  remains  a  brilliant  artist,  a  proclaimer  of 
individual  genius,  and  just  hereby  he  lifts  himself 
above  the  limitations  of  his  subject  and  above  the 
time  to  which  he  speaks;  just  hereby,  he  associates 
himself,  like  Erasmus,  with  the  few  of  his  age  who 
speak  to  us  also. 

If  Hutten  had  not  written  anything  except "  The 
Spectators,"  "  The  Bull  Killer  "  and  "  The  Rob- 
bers," these  three  dialogues  would  be  sufficient  to 
secure  him  a  name  among  the  classics  of  German 
literature.  Who  could  read  these  little  master- 
pieces of  dialogue  without  feeling  transported  by 
them  to  the  heights  of  free  humanity,  and  lifted 
above  all  meanness,  pettiness  and  artificial  dis- 
tortion ?  Who  will  not  admit  that  here  polemics 
against  what  is  evil  and  doomed  to  destruction 
turns  at  the  same  tune  into  a  serene  picture 
of  the  world  and  of  a  wholesome  and  hopeful 
life? 

1  Gespritche  von  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  Ubersetzt  von  D.  F.  Strauss,  p.  5. 


200  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Delightful  is  the  free  and  unconcerned  manner 
with  which,  in  "  The  Spectators,"  l  the  two  divine 
aviators  Sol  and  Phaethon,  who  from  the  height  of 
their  day's  journey  through  the  heavens  look  down 
upon  earth,  converse  with  each  other  about  the 
struggles  and  joys  of  the  small  world  of  men  that 
swarms  far  beneath  them.  It  is  the  tune  of  the 
Augsburg  Diet  of  1518,  and  the  divine  charioteers 
have  just  arrived  over  the  old  imperial  town.  How 
they  crowd  and  jostle  down  below,  how  they  push 
back  and  forth,  draw  hither  and  thither!  What  a 
noise,  what  a  carousing,  what  a  prattling  and 
prancing!  Sol  instructs  his  inquisitive  son:  "It  is 
the  Germans;  they  cannot  carry  on  politics  or  any 
public  business  without  banquets  and  drinking 
bouts.  To  be  sure,  there  are  some  sober  people 
among  them  (Hutten  means  himself  and  his  fol- 
lowers) ;  men  who  hold  themselves  in  control,  drink 
water,  cultivate  their  minds,  and  take  serious 
things  seriously;  may  they  succeed  in  making 
themselves  felt,  for  then*  country's  good;  but  the 
mass,  princes  as  well  as  knights  and  populace,  are 
unfortunately  still  in  the  fetters  of  their  inherited 
and  besetting  sin,  of  which  Tacitus  related  long 
ago  — '  Excess  in  eating  and  drinking; '  and  just 
the  best  and  freest  among  them,  the  Saxons,  are 

1  Opera  ed.  Booking  iv,  270  ff. 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  2OI 

the  worst  topers  of  all.  But  otherwise  the  Ger- 
mans are  a  splendid  people,  true,  brave,  honest  and 
joyous."  "  But  what  is  the  cause  of  the  concourse 
below  in  Augsburg?"  Phaethon  asks.  "They  are 
conducting  the  papal  legate,  Cardinal  Cajetan,  in 
solemn  procession  to  the  city  hall.  He  has  been 
sent  across  the  Alps  to  fool  the  Germans,  has  all  his 
sacks  full  of  indulgences,  and  hopes  to  bring  them 
back  to  Rome  filled  with  German  gold."  "  How 
long  is  the  Pope  going  to  carry  on  this  shameful 
game  ?  "  "  Until  the  Germans  who  till  now  he 
has  led  by  the  nose  have  come  to  their  senses." 
"  Is  the  time  near  when  the  Germans  will  have 
come  to  their  senses  ?  "  "  Very  near;  for  this 
Cardinal  will  be  the  first  one  who  comes  home  with 
empty  sacks,  to  the  great  terror  of  the  Holy  City, 
where  they  never  would  have  believed  that  the 
barbarians  would  have  been  so  bold."  "  Are  the 
Germans  then  barbarians  ?  "  "  According  to  the 
judgment  of  the  Romans,  yes.  But  if  you  look 
upon  good  manners  and  friendly  intercourse,  upon 
zeal  in  all  virtues,  upon  constancy  and  honesty  of 
mind,  then  the  Germans  are  the  most  cultivated  of 
all  people  and  the  Romans  the  most  hopeless  of 
barbarians.  For  they  have  been  corrupted  by 
luxury  and  debauchery  and  you  find  with  them 
faithlessness,  more  than  feminine  fickleness,  deceit 


202  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

and  villainy  as  nowhere  else."  "  I  like  what  you 
say  of  the  Germans,  if  they  only  were  not  such 
topers."  The  further  course  of  the  dialogue, 
which  now  goes  on  to  enlarge  on  the  political  and 
social  conditions  of  Germany,  is  interrupted  by  the 
Cardinal  Cajetan  himself ,  who  in  great  excitement 
and  full  of  wrath  shouts  up  to  them  from  the  pro- 
cession. He  calls  upon  Sol,  who  thus  far  had  only 
glanced  through  the  clouds,  that  he  should  scatter 
the  clouds  and  at  last  once  more,  as  in  Italy,  shine 
from  a  clear  sky;  furthermore,  he  should  bring 
heat  and  contagious  diseases,  so  that  more  church 
livings  fall  vacant  by  deaths  and  thereby  new 
revenues  accrue  to  the  Holy  See.  When  Sol  with 
proud  calm  rejects  these  requests  of  the  "  hot- 
headed little  man,"  and  Phaethon  in  youthful  indig- 
nation calls  down  to  him  some  pithy  and  bald 
truths,  then  the  Cardinal  in  pompous  rage  pro- 
nounces the  excommunication  against  the  two 
heavenly  travellers,  but  in  return  is  delivered  by 
them  to  the  contempt  of  the  world.  Phaethon:  "I 
give  you  over  to  the  ridicule  of  the  Germans,  whom 
you  are  plundering,  that  they  may  chase  you  away 
in  scorn."  Sol:  "  Leave  the  wretch  alone.  It  is 
time  to  turn  our  chariot  downward  and  to  give 
room  to  the  evening  star.  Let  the  villain  down 
below  lie,  cheat,  steal,  rob  and  pillage  at  his  own 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  203 

risk."  Phaethon:  "Yes,  and  go  to  the  devil,  too. 
So  then  I  spur  the  horses  on  our  downward  course 
and  follow  westward." 

The  second  of  the  above  mentioned  dialogues, 
"  The  Bull  Killer  "  1  reminds  one  of  the  clownish 
brawls  of  a  medieval  farce.  But  it  is  a  farce 
imbued  with  mighty  passion  and  moral  pathos; 
and,  as  hi  Holbein's  "  Dance  of  Death,"  here  also 
medieval  conceptions  are  made  the  vehicles  of  a 
thoroughly  modern  feeling.  The  bull  of  excom- 
munication issued  by  Leo  X  against  Luther 
appears  here  hi  person,  as  a  fat,  bloated  monster, 
that  attacks  with  threats  and  blows  a  beautiful 
woman,  German  Freedom.  Freedom  is  too  delicate 
for  this  passage  at  arms;  she  can  oppose  to  the 
maltreatment  by  the  fiend  nothing  but  laments  and 
calls  for  help.  But  finally  upon  her  call:  "  Does 
no  one  dare  to  succor  me,  is  there  no  true  freeman, 
no  one  who  strives  for  virtue,  loves  the  good,  hates 
deceit,  honors  justice,  abhors  sin  —  in  a  word,  is 
no  German  there  "  —  upon  this  call  there  appears, 
like  a  knight  of  Saint  George,  Ulrich  von  Hutten 
himself.  "  This  call,  from  whomsoever  it  may 
come,  concerns  me "  —  with  these  words  he 
presses  upon  the  brute,  which  now,  first  cursing, 
then  whining,  tries  to  defend  itself.  But  in  vain, 

1  Loc.  cit.,  iv,  311  ff. 


204  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

for  Hutten  comes  from  that  "  shelter  of  justice," 
the  Ebernburg,  "  where  the  men  are  true  men, 
where  one  keeps  one's  covenant,  preserves  faith, 
worships  the  divine,  and  protects  innocence," 
while  in  Rome,  whence  the  bull  comes,  the  con- 
trary of  all  this  is  the  case.  "If  it  were  only  a 
question  of  Luther,"  he  exclaims,  "  I  would  let  you 
go,  but  you  attack  not  only  his  life,  but  that  of  her 
here,  German  Freedom;  and  therefore  you  must  be 
deprived  of  your  own  life."  Now  there  ensues  the 
climax  of  the  action.  The  bull,  writhing  under 
Hutten's  merciless  strokes,  left  in  the  lurch  by  all 
his  superstitious  German  adherents  ("  For  Ger- 
many now  sees  with  her  own  eyes  "),  beseeching 
his  victorious  opponent  on  his  knees  for  mercy, 
finally  in  greatest  distress  makes  a  last  deceitful 
attempt  to  save  himself.  He  offers  indulgence  and 
papal  absolution  to  perjurers  and  murderers,  rob- 
bers and  desecrators  of  churches,  adulterers,  forni- 
cators  and  blasphemers,  if  they  only  will  help  him 
—  and,  lo,  first  it  seems  like  an  army  of  fleas,  then 
of  ants,  then  of  cats  that  moves  on  from  the  dis- 
tance; it  is  the  Roman  courtiers  and  mercenaries 
pressing  over  the  Alps.  And  now  Hutten  summons 
his  warriors.  "  Come,  ye  freemen;  our  common 
concern,  the  common  weal  is  at  stake.  Here  the 
tyrants  will  be  crushed;  here  the  servitude  will  be 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  205 

broken.  Where  are  the  freemen,  where  are  the 
illustrious  ones,  the  men  of  great  names,  where  are 
ye,  heads  of  nations  ?  —  They  have  heard  me  —  a 
hundred  thousand  I  see,  at  their  head  my  friend, 
Sickingen.  The  gods  be  thanked!  Germany  has 
come  to  herself;  even  Emperor  Charles  is  here,  and 
all  the  princes  about  him.  How,  now,  creature  of 
Leo  ?  "  The  Roman  courtiers  and  their  army  flee; 
and  Franz  von  Sickingen,  who  now  comes  forward, 
in  a  mighty  speech  of  triumph  once  more  sounds 
all  the  patriotic  feelings  and  hopes  with  which  Hut- 
ten's  own  soul  was  filled.  "  The  gates  of  freedom 
are  opened,  let  us  press  on.  God  has  unjustly  de- 
stroyed the  people  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  if  he 
spares  the  people  of  Rome,  in  comparison  with 
whose  godlessness  they  were  innocent  babes.  Let 
us  at  last  fulfill  what  thus  far  seemed  impossible. 
But  I  make  the  vow:  if  Christ  will  help  me  to  do 
that  which  I  have  in  mind,  I  will  spare  no  labor, 
and  will  not  give  up,  until  the  accursed  courtiers,  the 
godless  Romans,  find  no  more  game  in  Germany." 
With  a  last  desperate  exertion,  the  bull  turns  to  the 
Emperor.  Rejected  by  him  also,  the  wrathful  beast 
bursts  in  two,  and  from  his  belly  there  proceeds  a 
vapor  of  poisonous  vices.  The  dragon  is  dead. 

The  last  of  these  three  dialogues,  "  The  Rob- 
bers," l  is  not  the  equal  of  "  The  Bull  Killer  "  and 

1  Loc.  rit.,  iv,  363  ff. 


206  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

"  The  Spectators "  in  concentrated  power  and 
dramatic  weight.  But  we  are  compensated  for 
this  by  the  impressive,  free  and  human  manner  in 
which  the  fundamental  thought  of  this  dialogue, 
the  necessity  of  an  alliance  between  the  knight- 
hood and  the  cities  for  common  warfare,  is  brought 
out.  At  the  beginning  of  the  colloquy  such  an 
alliance  seems  far  off.  Hutten,  the  Hotspur,  has 
got  into  a  squabble  with  a  merchant,  a  business 
manager  of  the  great  banking  house  of  the  Fug- 
gers,  on  account  of  the  latter's  thesis  that  the 
knights  were  the  true  disturbers  of  peace  in  Ger- 
many, that  they  were  highwaymen  and  robbers, 
and  that  the  Emperor  could  not  do  anything  better 
for  the  country  than  to  stop  their  trade.  Hutten 
is  on  the  point  of  breaking  the  ribs  of  the  business 
man,  whom  he  contemptuously  addresses  as  a 
"  Peppersack,"  when  Franz  von  Sickingen  enters 
and  with  disinterested  composure  exhorts  the  hot- 
headed Hutten  to  moderation,  and  then  himself 
undertakes  the  defense  of  the  knighthood  against 
the  merchant.  He  does  not  deny  that  there  are 
some  knights  who  live  from  pillage  and  robbery, 
but,  he  thinks,  they  are  disavowed  by  their  own 
class.  The  nobility  as  a  class  consider  it  their 
highest  duty  to  guard  the  public  peace,  to  help  the 
weak  and  to  protect  the  innocent.  But  the  worst 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  207 

robbers  in  Germany  are  not  those  occasional  high- 
waymen and  bushwhackers;  they  could  easily  be 
subdued;  the  worst  are  —  "The  monks,"  inter- 
rupts the  irascible  Hutten.  "  Wait,"  says  Sickin- 
gen  with  superior  calm,  "  I  leave  them  to  you  for 
later  treatment.  First  I  must  speak  of  the  mer- 
chants themselves."  And  now  there  follows  a 
discussion,  resting  largely  on  stoic  principles,  about 
the  destructiveness  of  the  greed  for  money,  of  the 
over-cultivated  city  life,  of  luxury,  of  the  consump- 
tion of  nerve-exhausting  stimulants;  and  popular 
invectives  against  usury,  against  foreign  fashions, 
but  above  all  against  the  extortion  of  the  common 
people  by  the  monopoly  of  the  great  corporations 
like  those  of  the  Medici  and  the  Fuggers.  "  They 
are  worse  robbers  than  the  robber-knights,"  says 
Sickingen,  "  but  still  worse  are  the  scribes  and 
lawyers;  for  they  are  the  people  who  at  the  courts 
of  the  princes  and  in  the  councils  and  court-rooms 
of  the  cities,  instead  of  the  cause  of  the  people,  fol- 
low only  their  own  private  gam.  They  had  Em- 
peror Maximilian  entirely  in  their  power,  so  that 
nothing  came  of  all  his  plans  of  reform.  Now  they 
begin  the  same  intrigues  with  Emperor  Charles. 
They  pervert  the  law,  they  conceal  truth,  they 
deceive  the  people  by  sham  trials,  out  of  which 
they  alone  make  money.  A  court  fool  is  better 


208  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

company  for  a  prince  than  such  a  sneaking  scrib- 
bler and  quibbler.  And  it  would  be  better,  if  these 
doctors  of  law  with  their  red  caps,  who  make  the 
greatest  difficulties  over  the  most  insignificant 
trifles,  and  out  of  their  mountains  of  books  bring 
nothing  but  confusion  of  law,  had  never  come  into 
the  country,  and  if  the  people,  according  to  our 
ancestral  traditions,  were  their  own  lawmakers 
and  judges."  The  merchant  listens  with  ever 
growing  interest,  and  finally  assents  with  full  con- 
viction to  Hutten's  wish  that  this  vicious  brood  of 
law  perverters  be  exterminated  root  and  branch. 
But  now  Hutten  cannot  be  restrained  any  longer. 
Together  with  Sickingen  he  falls  with  tempestuous 
fury  upon  the  worst  and  most  wicked  of  all  robbers, 
the  monks,  the  bishops,  the  cardinals,  the  pope  and 
his  courtiers.  —  Against  all  these  robbers,  all  these 
exploiters  of  the  common  man  and  of  the  German 
Empire  (this  is  the  end  of  the  dialogue)  the  people 
must  make  a  common  cause;  to  that  pledge  the 
merchant  and  the  two  knights  give  one  another  the 
hand.  And  Hutten  closes  with  the  solemn  words  of 
consecration:  "  May  Christ,  the  Lord  and  Saviour 
confirm  this  covenant,  and  may  He  grant  that  our  ex- 
ample find  a  mighty  following  throughout  the  land." 
Did  Hutten,  apart  from  his  incessant  endeavors 
to  unite  the  emperor,  the  princes,  the  knights  and 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  209 

the  cities  into  a  great  alliance  for  freedom,  think  of 
drawing  the  peasants  also  into  this  formidable 
union  for  progress  ?  It  almost  seems  so.  For  in 
the  dialogue  "  The  New  Karsthans  "  which,  al- 
though not  written  by  Hutten,  unquestionably 
reflects  his  thought,  such  plans  are  mentioned. 
But  be  this  as  it  may,  so  much  is  certain:  no 
writer  of  his  time  has  looked  at  German  national 
conditions  from  so  high  and  broad  a  point  of  view 
as  Hutten.  None  has  contemplated  so  radical  a 
national  regeneration  as  he. 

It  is  difficult  to  do  justice  to  this  man  so  pre- 
maturely snatched  from  life,  to  this  restless  spirit 
who  conceived  so  much,  and  began  so  many  things. 
He  himself  once  said  that  it  was  the  fate  of  Ger- 
many to  be  unhappy.1  If  one  understands  by 
happiness  above  all  the  consciousness  of  success, 
then  this  was  the  fate  of  his  own  life;  for  the  feeling 
of  the  goal  attained  was  denied  him.  But  if  to  be 
a  man  means  to  be  a  fighter,  and  if  endeavor  is  the 
true  measure  of  the  greatness  of  character,  then 
Hutten  is  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  human  char- 
acters in  German  literature.  How  much  in  him 
seems  to  anticipate  the  great  spirits  of  a  later  time! 
With  Lessing  he  shares  the  restless  striving  for 
truth  and  the  indomitable  courage  of  truth.  He  is 

1  Miseram  oportet  esse  Germaniam  necessario;  loc.  cit.,  iv,  384. 


210  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

akin  to  Heinrich  von  Kleist  in  his  contempt  of  com- 
promise and  his  unconditional  surrender  to  a  cause. 
Something  of  Ernst  Moritz  Arndt  one  seems  to  feel 
in  his  romantic  enthusiasm  for  German  nation- 
ality and  his  defiance  of  foreign  fashion.  His  his- 
torically unfair  and  yet  historically  justified  hatred 
of  the  clergy  reminds  one  of  the  excessive  super- 
ciliousness of  Nietzsche.  His  delight  in  cavalier- 
like  sport,  his  pleasure  in  country  life,  his  Junker- 
like  hatred  of  cities,  and  his  fervent  passion  for 
Germany's  unity  and  greatness  associate  him  with 
the  greatest  German  Junker  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  Bismarck.  Nay,  one  of  the  very  most 
recent  social  tendencies,  the  temperance  move- 
ment, finds  energetic  expression  in  his  eager 
invectives  against  the  German  national  vice  of 
intemperance.  What  could  this  man  not  have 
accomplished,  what  might  he  not  have  become  for 
Germany,  if  there  had  been  more  men  like  him,  if 
his  age  had  been  more  friendly  to  him,  if  he  had 
succeeded  in  carrying  public  opinion. 

That  he  by  no  means  was  a  mere  enthusiast  or 
a  mere  destroyer,  but  also  a  man  of  constructive 
thought,  our  whole  survey  of  his  activity  must  have 
shown.  But  that  with  a  successful  carrying  out  of 
his  thoughts  he  would  also  have  learned  modera- 
tion, is  made  probable  by  two  of  his  last  dialogues, 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  211 

"  The  Warners."  In  one  of  them  Luther  appears, 
in  the  other  Franz  von  Sickingen,  both,  in  order  to 
justify  themselves  to  a  friend  for  their  attitude  in 
the  great  concern  of  the  tunes,  the  reformation  of 
the  church,  and  both  do  this  with  the  greatest 
objectivity  and  restraint,  although  with  entire 
decision  and  complete  trust  in  their  cause.  Luther 
sees  his  task  in  leading  the  church  back  to  the  sim- 
plicity and  inwardness  of  oldest  Christian  times; 
and  Sickingen  also  refutes  the  accusation  of  his 
being  an  innovator,  for  him  also  the  mam  question 
is  the  restitution  of  the  true  faith  in  place  of  super- 
stition, of  the  religion  of  Christ  in  place  of  that  of 
his  Vicar  at  Rome. 

What  a  view  is  opened  by  the  thought  of  the 
possibility  that  it  might  have  been  granted  to 
Hutten  to  carry  through  the  war  for  this  cause  at 
the  side  of  Luther,  as  he  had  hoped!  If  the  aristo- 
crat and  the  man  of  the  people,  the  knight  and  the 
son  of  the  miner  had  really  understood  each  other, 
if  the  religious  Reformation  could  have  assimilated 
the  ideal  of  humanity  and  the  rational  culture  of 
humanism,  if  Hutten's  thought  of  an  alliance  of 
all  classes  for  the  foundation  of  a  free  united  Ger- 
many had  been  realized,  what  an  age  of  national 
greatness  and  power  would  then  have  dawned  for 
Germany!  Hutten's  own  writings,  so  full  of  hope, 


212  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

stirred  by  such  mighty  thoughts,  so  perfect  in  form, 
even  in  their  foreign  garb  so  nobly  popular,  give  us 
at  least  a  foretaste  of  what  might  have  been.  That 
Hutten  himself,  vanquished,  deserted,  cast  out,  as 
a  fugitive  beyond  the  German  boundaries,  sank 
into  his  grave,  is  an  impressive  symbol  of  the  tragic 
turn  which  the  fate  of  Germany  took  from  that 
moment  when  the  Reformation  shook  off  human- 
ism and  thereby,  instead  of  a  universally  human 
movement  came  to  be  a  question  of  church  ortho- 
doxy and  theological  zeal.  But  Hutten's  figure 
stands  before  us  transfigured  by  eternal  youthful- 
ness,  as  the  earliest  champion  of  an  ideal  to  which 
after  him  many  of  the  best  sons  of  Germany  have 
devoted  themselves  and  which  at  last,  in  a  more 
enlightened  age,  has  been  at  least  partially  realized : 
the  independence  of  secular  life  from  the  encroach- 
ments of  clerical  authority  and  the  function  of  the 
State  as  the  legitimate  upholder  of  liberal  culture 
and  spiritual  progress. 

Was  Hutten  right  when  he  said  that  it  was  the 
fate  of  Germany  to  be  unhappy  ?  If  he  was,  — 
and  it  would  almost  seem  so  —  then  it  must  be  said 
that  the  tragedy  of  German  history  is  most  inti- 
mately allied  with  German  greatness.  Twice 
within  the  last  four  hundred  years  German  na- 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  213 

tional  life  has  been  nearly  crushed  at  the  very 
moment  when  it  seemed  as  though  the  fulfillment 
of  the  ages  had  come;  twice  there  has  arisen  from 
this  very  destruction  a  new  and  a  higher  national 
culture. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  Germany  gave  to  the 
world  the  principle  of  religious  freedom.  But 
owing  to  the  lack  of  a  broad  national  spirit  and  a 
firmly  consolidated  public  opinion,  religious  free- 
dom reacted  upon  Germany  not  as  an  upbuilding, 
but  as  a  disintegrating  force.  At  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when  England  was  about  to 
enter  the  Elizabethan  era,  when  the  Dutch  were 
fighting  the  most  glorious  struggle  of  modern  times 
for  free  thought  and  free  government,  Germany, 
the  motherland  of  religious  liberty,  seemed  hope- 
lessly lost  in  the  conflict  between  Jesuit  and  Pro- 
testant fanaticism  and  was  gradually  drifting 
toward  the  abyss  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  From 
the  ruin  and  the  desolation  of  this  war,  Germany 
gradually  and  slowly  wrestled  upward  in  the  seven- 
teenth century.  Under  the  most  terrible  discour- 
agements, with  infinite  patience  and  abiding  faith, 
her  citizens,  her  intellectual  and  spiritual  leaders, 
and  her  princes,  each  in  his  own  narrow  sphere, 
tried  to  cultivate  and  to  strengthen  what  there  was 
left  of  germs  of  prosperity  and  of  hope  for  the 


214  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

future;  and  from  utter  political  impotence  at  the 
time  of  Louis  XIV  at  least  one  German  state, 
Prussia,  gradually  rose  to  the  heroic  achievements 
of  the  reign  of  Frederick  the  Great. 

Then  there  came  another  epoch  when  Germany 
gave  to  the  world  a  precious  spiritual  message. 
Kant  exalted  the  moral  law  as  the  only  true  revela- 
tion of  the  divine,  Schiller  pointed  to  beauty  as  the 
reconciliation  between  the  ideal  and  the  real, 
Goethe  found  the  salvation  of  man  in  the  restless 
striving  for  culture.  But  again  it  seemed  as  though 
Germany  must  pay  with  her  own  life  for  the  price- 
less treasures  won  by  her  for  humanity.  Her 
aesthetic  and  moral  culture  had  become  too  refined 
to  resist  the  rude  attack  of  a  hostile  world.  The 
classic  epoch  of  German  literature  and  philosophy 
coincided  with  the  breakdown  of  the  German 
Empire  and  the  subjugation  of  the  German  people 
by  the  French  conqueror. 

From  the  throes  of  this  fearful  catastrophe  the 
Germany  of  today  was  born.  By  summoning  all 
her  powers,  —  physical,  intellectual,  spiritual,  — 
against  the  ruin  threatened  from  Napoleonic 
dominion,  Germany  once  more  rose  to  political 
greatness.  A  new  and  exalted  conception  of  the 
State,  a  State  uniting  in  itself  all  spiritual  and 
moral  aspirations  of  the  people,  stimulating  every 


ULRICH  VON  HUTTEN  215 

kind  of  public  and  private  activity,  straining  every 
energy  and  protecting  every  resource,  subordinat- 
ing all  individual  comfort  to  the  one  great  aim  of 
national  achievements,  inspired  the  best  Germans 
throughout  the  nineteenth  century.  Since  1870  it 
has  seemed  as  though  Germany,  of  all  nations,  was 
destined  to  be  a  leader  in  everything  that  makes 
for  good  government,  for  public  honesty,  for  social 
justice,  for  personal  enlightenment,  orderliness  and 
respectability,  for  wisely  organized  and  wisely 
directed  peaceful  activities  of  every  kind. 

And  now,  for  a  third  time,  a  fearful  cataclysm,  — 
more  destructive  perhaps  than  even  the  Thirty 
Years'  War  and  the  Napoleonic  invasion  —  threa- 
tens to  sweep  away  everything  that  has  been  won 
by  the  work  of  generations;  and  the  possibility  of 
ruin  stares  Germany  in  the  face. 

But  if  history  teaches  us  anything,  it  certainly 
teaches  us  that  a  people  which  remains  true  to  its 
better  self  cannot  be  crushed.  The  present  conflict 
has  brought  such  overwhelming  evidence  of  the 
German  people's  determination  to  sacrifice  every- 
thing in  the  service  of  a  supreme  ideal  demand 
that,  whatever  may  be  the  fate  of  the  battlefield, 
this  war  is  certain  to  usher  in  a  new  and  greater 
epoch  of  German  culture.  Never  before  have 
Germans,  without  distinction  of  rank  or  class  or 


216  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

party  or  creed,  felt  so  clearly  what  it  is  that  makes 
their  national  existence,  what  the  ultimate  ami  is 
for  which  they  live  and  for  which  they  are  glad  to 
die.  This  new  national  consciousness  will  survive 
either  victory  or  defeat;  it  will  lead  to  new  na- 
tional achievements,  to  new  spiritual  attainments, 
to  the  purging  of  whatever  may  be  left  of  weakness 
or  littleness  or  false  conceit  in  German  personality. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Alsfeld  Passion  Play,  131-137. 
Amis,  the  Clerk,  103-105 
Anninius,  195. 
Arndt,  Ernst  Moritz,  210. 
Augsburg,  Diet  of,  200. 

Bach,  Sebastian,  88. 
Ballad,  popular,  90-99. 
Bamberg,  sculptures  at  Cathedral 

of,  84. 

Beguines,  order  of,  46,  47. 
Benediktbeuren  Christmas  Play, 

117-119. 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  58,  59. 
Berthold  of  Regensburg,  50-58. 
Bezold,  Friedrich  von,  184. 
Bismarck,  210. 
Bouts,  Dirk,  139,  180. 
Brant,  Sebastian,  162. 
Breughel,  Peter,  70. 
Biicher,  Karl,  79. 
Burckhardt,  Jacob,  4,  15. 
Burgherdom,    individualism    of, 

43-46. 

Cervantes,  100. 

Charles  V,  186, 193, 194,  207. 

Chartres,  sculptures  at  Cathedral 

of,  5- 

Chaucer,  10,  101. 
Chivalric  ideals,  7,  8. 
Chrestien  de  Troyes,  28,  29,  33, 

34- 


Cologne  school  of  painting,  70, 

139. 
Crotus  Rubeanus,  187-189,  197. 

Dante,  10,  15. 
Dionysius  Areopagita,  58. 
DUrer,  28,  72,  138-150. 

Ebernburg,  194,  195,  204. 
Eckhart,  Master,  59-64,  72. 
Eraser,  Hieronymus,  155,  198. 
Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  154-183, 

195,  197-199. 
his  skepticism,  156. 
his  rationalism,  157. 
his  religious  toleration,  158, 

159- 

his  efforts  for  popular  wel- 
fare, 160. 

his  belief  in  freedom  of  the 
will,  160,  161. 

the  "  Praise  of  Folly,"  162- 
170. 

the  "Familiar  Colloquies," 

171-183. 

Eyck,  the  brothers  van,  70,  72, 99, 
139. 

Faustus,  153. 
Flemish  painting,  84. 
Frederick  the  Great,  214. 
Frederick  the  Wise,  Elector  of 
Saxony,  194, 196. 


3X9 


220 


INDEX 


Gengenbach,  Pamphilus,  198. 
Goethe,  19,  22,  64,  77, 90,  191  n., 

214. 

Gottfried  von  Strassburg,  36-42. 
Gummere,  Francis,  79. 

Hart  man  von  Aue,  22-27. 

Hauptmann,  Gerhart,  64,  105. 

Hegel,  64. 

Heine,  96,  137. 

Helmbrecht,  Farmer,  105-114. 

Herder,  79,  84. 

Hessian  Christmas  Play,  123. 

Hessus,  Eobanus,  155. 

Hoffmann,  Amadeus,  64. 

Holbein,  138,  195. 

Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  58. 

Humanism,  ideals  of,  151-153. 

Hutten,  Hans  von,  189. 

Hutten,  Ulrich  von,  154, 184-212. 

his  political  program,  185-187. 

his    literary    independence, 
188. 

his  patriotic  motives,   189- 
192. 

his  participation  in  the  Refor- 
mation propaganda,  193- 

195- 
his  Dialogues,  198-212. 

Ibsen,  64. 

Individualism,  43-46,  73. 
Innocent  III,  15,  16. 

Jutta,  Play  of  Frau,  121. 

Kant,  214. 

Kleist,  Heinrich  von,  106,  210. 


Kraft,  Adam,  84. 

Leo  X,  189,  194,  203. 
Lessing,  209. 
Limburg  Chronicle,  78. 
Louis  XIV,  214. 
Love  song,  popular,  85-89. 
Lucian,  199. 

Luther,  16,  77,  114,  160,  161,  174, 
185, 193-I9S,  197,  211. 

Manuel,  Niklas,  198. 

Matilda  of  Magdeburg,  47-49,  53. 

Maximilian  I,  186,  189,  207. 

Melanchthon,  154. 

Memlinc,  180. 

Middle  Ages,  spirit  of,  7. 

Murner,  Thomas,  162,  198. 

Mutianus,  Conrad,  155. 

Napoleon,  214. 

Naumburg,  sculptures  at  Cathe- 
dral of,  6. 

Nettesheim,  Agrippa  of,  153. 
Nietzsche,  44,  77,  210. 

Paracelsus,  153. 
Paulsen,  Friedrich,  184. 
Pirkheimer,  Willibald,  155,  189, 

190. 

Poe,  Edgar,  64. 
Preaching  orders,  50. 

Redentin  Easter  Play,  127-131. 
Reinke  de  Vos,  101. 
Reuchlin,  154,  180. 
Rheims,  sculptures  at  Cathedral 
of,  5- 


INDEX 


221 


Richard  of  St.  Victor,  58. 
Rogier  van  der  Weyden,  100, 139. 
Rousseau,  44,  77,  170. 

Schiller,  19,  64,  77,  214. 
Schlegel,  Friedrich,  165. 
Schongauer,  Martin,  139. 
Scotus  Erigena,  58. 
Shaw,  Bernard,  166. 
Sickingen,  Franz  von,  194-196, 

2OS-2O8,  211. 

Strassburg,  sculptures  at  Cathe- 
dral of,  84. 

Strauss,  David  Friedrich,  199. 
Sudermann,  Hermann,  137. 
Suso  (Seuse),  Heinrich,  64-73. 


Tauler,  Johannes,  72-77. 
Teniers,  124. 
Theophilus,  Play  of,  121. 
Tieck,  Ludwig,  165. 


Tolstoi,  69. 

Tours,  Mystery  Play  of,  117. 

Ulrich,  Duke  of  Wurtemberg,  189, 


Valla,  Lorenzo,  189. 
Vienna  Easter  Play,  124,  125. 
Virgins,  Play  of  Wise  and  Foolish, 

122. 
Voltaire,  170. 

Wagner,  Richard,  30,  93. 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  9- 

19,  83-85,  190. 
Wilde,  Oscar,  137. 
Wohlgemut,  Michael,  139. 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  28-37. 
Worms,  Diet  of,  195. 

Zola,  69. 
Zwingli,  186,  187. 


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